Letters from Elwood: The Liberty of Lies
by Jo Z. Pierce
Summary: Elwood was the quiet one, but at least he knew how to write a letter or two. Sometimes they even contained the truth. PART I. WARNINGS: Rated strong T, especially for language.
1. September 30, 1980

_This is Part I of my **LETTERS FROM ELWOOD** series. _

_ This part is a Mary Sue. Plain and simple. Don't like it? Don't read it! You've been warned._

_This story is also Rated T, with leaning towards M. There is cursing. There will be sex. Don't like it? Don't read it! You've been warned._

_I don't own the Blues Brothers, but I do take them out to play every once in a while, although never with permission. _

* * *

**LETTERS FROM ELWOOD:**

**The Liberty of Lies**

**by Jo Z. Pierce**

* * *

- 

It was hard for him to write that letter. Real hard. Harder than any damned letter he had ever written before.

"Fuck, Elwood!" Jake snapped across the small jail cell. "Would you just put something down, already?"

"Don't know what to say." Elwood never looked up at his brother. He just stared at the blank page.

"You don't know what to say?"

"Nope."

"How about this? _I'm in the joint. Send money_. That oughtta do it..." Jake fidgeted as he lit up a cigarette while stretching out on his bed.

"I'm not gonna write that, you douche bag."

Silence filled the cell. Elwood sat quietly, with his back leaning against the wall. His legs were tucked up close, almost against his chest. He rested a piece of paper on his thigh while he held a pen in his hand, ready to begin writing. If he ever found the words, he'd write them down. He just didn't know what to say.

He must have written at least a hundred or so letters to her over the past two years. He found that they got easier over time. But this one, from inside Stateville, was really hard to write. It was even more difficult than the first one he wrote, all that time ago, on a crazy whim. He wondered why he ever did write that first one, anyway.

"Oh, why bother, Elwood?" Jake finally asked across the room.

"I guess I owe it to her." Elwood shrugged, and frowned at his inability to write a single word. Years ago, that might have been expected. And if he were like Jake, a letter from him would be about as expected as a Miami snowflake in August. But this wasn't years ago. It was 1980, and writing had almost become second nature to Elwood. What he couldn't say, in his shyness, he had learned to share on the page.

"I can't believe it. My brother's got himself a fucking pen pal..."

Elwood shut his eyes and took a deep breath in, but made no sound.

"Are they at least dirty letters?"

"If they are, I ain't sharin 'em with you."

"Oh, come on. You wouldn't hold out on your brother like that...would you?" Jake struggled, wiggled his round body around the bed, and pulled himself up. He hung his legs over the side.

"Ok, try this out. _I'm in the joint. Send money and some dirty photos._"

"Leave me alone, Jake." Elwood had not looked up at his brother the whole afternoon. He simply stared at the blank sheet of paper resting on his thigh.

"No. No! How about this... _Hey babe. I'm locked in the joint. So send money, some photos of yourself in a black nightie, and some dirty magazines for my brother..._"

She'd never believe him. Elwood was convinced of that. It all seemed a little bit too convenient; just a few months before they were finally going to meet he'd landed himself in the joint. And after all this time. She'd think it was his way of backing out of it, now that the time to meet was finally drawing near. She'd probably think that he was locked up all along, writing letters from a goddamned cell. Bullshitting her. She'd probably figure he was lying to her the whole time, even though he wasn't.

Well, at least most of the time.

He let out a small melancholy laugh, thinking about the irony of the whole situation. Jake thought he was laughing at the joke about the girlie magazines.

"I don't wanna ... lie to her."

Elwood always wrote letters to Jake while he was locked up in Joliet for armed robbery. And he always took the liberty of bullshitting him. How could he break the news that the band had split, or that he'd traded the Bluesmobile in for a microphone? He had to give Jake a little bit of hope, to get him through. Maybe that way, there'd be a reason for Jake to be good for once. Parole was a damn good carrot on a stick.

Maybe, he finally thought, I'll do the same. I'll do some time, but get out early on good behavior. But what would that mean? Ten years? Fifteen?

"Well, that's great. You lied to me about the band... to your own damn brother!" Jake continued, the next line with a cheesy falsetto. "But you don't wanna lie to some broad?"

"Nope."

"Some broad you never even met?"

"Yeaah-up."

"Jesus the Journalist Christ! Just write something! Anything! Make some shit up! That's what guys do! What makes you so goddamned different? And you know what Elwood?"

There was no response.

"You know what?" Jake repeated. "We tell them what they wanna hear! And chicks expect that crap. They don't wanna hear the truth! So, what are you doing? Ruining it for the rest of us?

"Yeaah-up."

"For three fucking years you bullshitted me. Your own brother."

"Well, I didn't want you to lose hope..."

"Shit, man..."

"Bullshit, actually," Elwood said, remembering the moment when he told Jake that he took the liberty of bullshitting him for all those years while locked up in Joliet. He cracked a small smile out of the corner of his lip.

Jake sat back in his cot, and tried to calm himself down. As mad as he was with the brother who lied to him, and as frustrated as he was with the brother he didn't always understand, he still wanted to help the brother that he loved. He still had to look out for him, as best he knew how. That's what big brothers did.

He shook his head, as if examining a lost cause.

"Well, just don't tell her you're in for twenty."

"I don't want her to wait for me..."

"Don't worry... Elwood. She won't... she won't..."

For the first time since he ripped the sheet of paper off of the legal pad, Elwood lifted his head and looked across the room at Jake. His eyes went beady. He was angry, and hurt. But he also knew that Jake was right. Again, he offered up a bitter smile.

"She'll spend a few months writing a few polite letters, pretending everything is ok," Jake said softly, as if explaining women to a young child for the first time. Elwood was more than a bit surprised by Jake's concern.

"Soon, she'll find herself some asshole accountant with a real job and a co-op who drives a Honda Civic."

Elwood slowly nodded. "Yeaaah-up..."

"So, just write some shit down. At least you'll get a few letters out of it. And maybe some dirty pictures, too." Jake dropped his head to the pillow, then covered his eyes with his arm to shield him from the light as he tried to take a nap.

Elwood looked at the blank page once again. Finally, with a deep sigh, he put the pen to paper...

* * *

_September 30th, 1980_

_Dear Jo,_

_I told you my brother was getting out of Joliet. Well, its hard to explain. We had to get $5000 for the orphanage fast, for some back taxes. It was just like a mission from God. _

_Things went wrong, and now we're in the joint together. It's nothing real bad. Just some traffic violations and property damage. But I don't think I'll be able to come see you in December, like I promised. _

_You once told me you regret some things you've done. And so do I. But I don't regret winding up here. I couldn't see those kids out on the street. I think you understand. Still, I'm sorry for screwing up our plans. _

_Maybe you can come and visit me? When they let you go? I understand if you can't. Or won't. _

_I'd like it if you still write me every now and then. I hope writing me isn't one of those things you regret._

_Your lost soul,  
Elwood_


	2. January 22, 1978

January 22, 1978

"Twenty bucks?" Elwood blurted out. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or get mad. "You gotta be shitting me!"

"Apparently it's pretty rare."

Lester's record store was a secret gem, filled with unusual and rare records and sheet music, mixed in with some popular junk. Lester always said that junk was there just to pay the rent. Either way, whenever he came across a little extra cash, Elwood tried to make his way across town to see there was anything worth splurging on.

Today it looked like there was nothing but crap in the record bins. He was ok with that, since he only had an extra few bucks on him, anyway.

_"7 Line Blues." _What the hell did that mean? He looked at the cover of the album, with the words printed in blue, spread across the top of the album jacket. Was that the name of the band? Or just the name of the album? Or both? He'd never heard of them before. Not even in passing. Still, there was something about the album cover that appealed to him.

On the cover, you could just about make out the tracks of an elevated train in the distance. From the look of it, it wasn't unlike the one that ran outside his room at the Plymouth Hotel. It could have been Chicago, but he didn't recognize the streets at all. And Elwood recognized every back street in the whole damn city.

The street scape of all downtowns and the downtrodden everywhere are pretty much the same, he figured. It didn't matter what city you were in. There's always an elevated train that runs through the neighborhoods that no one expects to be quiet, anyway. Box buildings of no historical value are made interesting only when covered in graffiti. Maybe there's a street vendor or two, like in the photo. Maybe they're peddlers. Who knows?

In the photo, the cars parked on the street were at least several years off the factory floor. Most had rusting out bottoms, caused by all the salt thrown down onto the icy streets during the harsh northern winters. And there weren't too many blonds walking down the street, either, if you actually cared to look at people's faces.

It could have been Chicago, but it wasn't. It was New York.

"Never heard of 'em. Any good?"

A young, tall man stood behind the countertop, reading a magazine. He seemed uninterested in the conversation.

"Lester says they were pretty big in New York for a while. Local talent." The man behind the counter chuckled. "New York Blues...? _Hmph_..."

Elwood looked up at the man suspiciously. New kid. Lester must be pretty desperate for help these days. Sure, New York wasn't Chicago. Or Memphis, St. Louis or New Orleans for that matter. But it had a musical style all it's own, if you knew what to look for. A little more jazz ... maybe. Certainly a different style. Still, that city unleashed its share of music on the world. Even if the music was changing, it didn't matter. It was changing everywhere.

He flipped the album cover around, and took a look at the credits printed towards the bottom left corner. Nothing but a few names he'd never heard of.

F. Jones. D. Steves. T. Oliver. J. Pierce, M. Rogers. N. Haywood.

They were no one he'd ever heard of, really. And they were not even full names. Just some anonymous initials and the surnames of families he didn't know.

Even the production studio was pretty anonymous. Willets Point Records.

Local talent, indeed.

"Twenty bucks?" Elwood repeated, shaking his head. The cashier just shrugged it off. Elwood continued reading. His eyebrows lifted slightly.

"Recorded Live at _The Bottom Line_...1975?"

"Where?"

Elwood smirked. Desperate indeed. Couldn't be all that bad, if they got a gig like that.

"Lester around?" Elwood asked, as he approached the counter.

"He'll be in."

"You mind if I play this? On the record player?"

Again, the cashier shrugged, as he took the LP out of Elwood's hand. He looked unimpressed, and wasn't even the slightest bit curious. He slipped the record out of the jacket. A piece of old newspaper, carelessly shoved inside, peeked out, as if it was trying to get noticed without making a scene. Elwood reached out and gently pulled the paper from the jacket as the cashier placed the disc on the turntable.

It was a crinkled and folded page from _The Village Voice,_ dated Sunday, July 11, 1976.

The music was scratchy as it began, but that was obviously the condition of the record and the background noise of the live recording. There was an over-the-top-intro by the emcee, the applause of a very enthusiastic crowd, and a surprisingly humble welcome by the lead singer.

The first song started out slow. It almost seemed anti-climatic, based on the applause of the audience a moment before. Maybe he could hear some influence of Little Milton, but just barely. Nothing really to write home about. He didn't recognize the voice, nor the song for that matter. The lead singer's voice was deep, not unlike his own. He reached over the counter and took back the LP sleeve, reading the list of songs. Again, there was nothing he recognized.

"Twenty bucks?" Elwood thought to himself, a third time.

He read down the list of songs. _Can't Hear Me Cry. __Grabbin' the Third Rail_. _Fifth Floor Apartment on Fire. Jamaica All Over..._

Elwood felt a cold wind blow across his back, and heard a tinny bell ring. He turned to see Lester scurry into the shop, shaking off the slush from his boots, and shaking off the snow from his shoulders.

"Elwood! Good to see you, boy... How's your brother?"

Elwood gave the older man a short, friendly salute and a warm smile. "Ok. Still in the joint."

Lester shook his head, to offer both sympathy and to scold.

"He says he'll get you that money..."

"...as soon as he gets out. Elwood, he don't need to jive talk me. He just needs to _pay _me." It was obvious that the man was friendly, but he also had bills to pay. He looked over to Elwood as he began to take off his winter coat.

"7 Line Blues? Never saw you as the investing type, Elwood."

Elwood smiled then pointed his thumb backwards over his shoulder, towards the record on the turntable.

"Lester. Twenty bucks? For this? Five... Ten... Maybe..."

The older man nodded his head. "That's what I'm talking about. I guess most people want this for the rarity, not the music. They'll bank on it being some strange and unusual collector's item some day. If you ask me, I don't think it's going nowhere."

"So why you selling it?"

Lester shrugged his shoulders. "An old friend raved about it. I personally can't get past the first two songs. I think he just wanted to get rid of it himself, and so he loaded it off on me."

Elwood chuckled, and trying to make his friend feel better, offered up some consolation. "Well, it's only about a year or two old. Maybe they'll hit it big with their next album, and this will be worth something."

"You think so?"

"Who knows?"

Lester smiled back at Elwood. "You see Curtis lately? Jake?"

"Every once in a while I swing by the orphanage. And I went by Joliet just after New Year's to see Jake."

"Yeah... and he'll get me my money." He shook his head and laughed. "You want a cup of coffee?"

Elwood shook his head, smiling weakly.

Lester walked towards the back of the store and into a back room, disappearing for a while. Elwood resumed his survey of the album still in his hand. It was always good to hear new music, to get new ideas. But this? Nothing special.

He flipped the sleeve over, for his final look. There was a photo of the band, in black and white. The photo was shot in the club, most likely before it opened the night they recorded. The six stood together as a motley group. All around them were chairs on tables, obviously from the pre-opening cleaning efforts. All had on a uniform, of sorts. T-shirts and some blue jeans. At least they weren't wearing fucking bell bottoms in calico prints. Despite the music still playing, he had to hand it to the band for maintaining some level of self-respect.

It made him smile to see a band that reminded him, in some ways, of his own. A couple of white guys in what otherwise was a local black band. He wondered who the lead singer was. The bass guitarist held his instrument in his hand, and the drummer held a set of sticks. But other than that, there was no way to identify who was who. No way to decide what initials went with which instruments.

The big guy in front. He had a giant Afro. And he looked pretty damned pissed off. Some tall white guy with long greasy hair stood behind him. The dealer of the group, he figured. He also seemed mad. Then there was the drummer with glasses. He looked mad, too, but that was because he looked like he'd just escaped from his mother's basement where he lived and watched re-runs of Star Trek. Two other brothers, arms crossed in front of their chests, stared into the camera. And a smiling chick, eyes closed, and bent over as if she had been caught mid-laugh. She was white, with wavy hair. She was short, he guessed, but he couldn't really tell how small she was from her pose.

For some reason, he was reminded of Jake.

Someone probably cracked a joke right before the camera flash went off. Somebody wanted to make her laugh, even when she didn't want to.

It was just like Jake would do with the band.

"I bet I can make Mr. Fabulous spit up his drink, Elwood. Watch me!"

Elwood smiled as he remembered the band, and some of their times on the road. He'd have to try to remember to get in touch with Mr. Fabulous this week. He promised Jake he'd book a gig with the band by the end of the month. He smiled, and then wondered if he had just been kidding himself that he could keep the band together.

It was Jake that did that. Jake and his sense of humor. His in-your-face humor. His no holding back style. His charm. He had everything this band didn't.

Or did it? He looked down at the sleeve. There was a story there. A good story. There had to be. He wondered what they said to that chick to make her laugh so hard. Probably a dirty joke. He laughed thinking about it. And they probably looked after her. Somebody's sister? The Star Trek nerd's sister, probably. Someone let the geek in the band so they could lay his sister. He chuckled at the thought. Maybe that's why the band wasn't all that good. Too busy fucking around with each other's sisters to practice.

Still, a chick in the band had to be tough. With those five bad asses, she'd have to be tough. Ok, maybe the geek wasn't a bad-ass, but she wasn't laying him. Anyway, doubled over, he could almost hear her laugh.

"Yeah. I never seem to get past this song. Crowd seems to like it, though..." Lester said, as he emerged from the back room with a cup of coffee. "You want me to turn it off?" the shopkeeper asked, as he made his way behind the counter. He looked at his new assistant with some disappointment. Lester was desperate. Even he knew it.

Elwood continued to look at the photo on the sleeve. The story he tried to write in his head seemed pretty good, even if he was just making it up as he went along.

"Leave it on a little more. Maybe it gets better."

Lester shook his head and sipped at his coffee. After the applause died down, a woman's voice took the microphone.

_Thank you... thank you... Now, here's a song I wrote a few years back. I think some of you know it. It's called "Fifth Floor Apartment on Fire."_

The audience seemed to know the song, and it exploded in applause. Elwood, Lester, and the unimpressive cashier all looked up from what they were doing, eyebrows raised.

The song opened up in a fast harmonica solo, then exploded into a raging roller coaster ride of music, with a deep bass line carrying them through. And it was good. It was sad. And a bit angry, with a tiny bit of punk coming through in the guitar. New York and the punk scene was hot right about now, so that influence was clear. Still, there was no mistaking it as blues. And it was good. Good enough to explain how this nothing band got a gig at _The Bottom Line._

"Shit, Lester. You should have listened to the next song..."

Elwood didn't really listen to the voice, even though it was the girl singing. And he hardly heard the words that first time either. That would all come later. He was just caught up in the music. Elwood looked down at the sleeve cover and at the laughing girl. She wrote this? He scanned the cover again, and found the song. Lyrics and music by J. Pierce.

"Hey, Elwood. What's that in your hand, son?"

Elwood looked at the record cover, then the inner sleeve.

"No. The newspaper."

He had forgotten about the article which had secretly been tucked away. He put the cover and the sleeve down, then unfolded the page carefully.

"The Village Voice, July 11, 1976," he read aloud. He scanned the page, then turned it over. Towards the bottom of page 2 was a small article. The headline sent a quick shiver down his spine.

"_**7 Train Blues" Singer, 25, Dead. **_

"Um, Lester," Elwood said slowly. "I don't think they're gonna be making any hit albums any time soon."

* * *

-

"Yeah. That album you sold me. What the hell is it?" Lester shouted into the phone. He wasn't angry, but the man on the other end may just have been deaf. If he wasn't deaf when he picked up the phone, he would be by the time he hung it up. "Uh huh... uh huh..." Lester listened, his face changing expression from confused, surprised, incredulous, and then backed to surprised.

"No kidding. No really. You're kidding me...The CIA? The KKK? No way, Marty. Nuh-uh." He let out a hearty laugh.

"Maybe I should charge fifty for it! Oh come on. White slavery? Now, you're pulling my leg." He laughed again. Elwood and the other eavesdropper listened in on the conversation, wide eyed and in a state of shock. The conversation started out solemnly. Now, five minutes into the tale, it was turning into something epic and comic.

A customer towards the back began to make his way through the aisles, towards the front of the store. He tried to get closer, to listen in on the story unfolding.

"Now, you listen here. You mention the name John F. Kennedy, and I will personally come over there and kick your ass! No... no. Come on. Stop it... The Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr.? Bullshit, man. Bullshit!" Lester was in hysterics laughing. He bent over, holding his sides.

This was sure to be a good story. Elwood looked down at the record sleeve and thought that maybe they were telling her the same fucking story, whatever it was. No wonder she was laughing so hard. Finally, Elwood couldn't help it. He laughed, too. His laughter, however, was more subtle.

Then he looked at the newspaper clipping, and his smile faded. A photograph of the man with the afro stared back at him. He reread the story again, trying to understand it. Yeah. He was getting laid, alright, he thought. What a way to go.

* * *

-

"_**7 Train Blues" Singer, 25, Dead**_

_Franklin Jones, the lead singer and guitar player of Queens Band "7 Train Blues" was found dead in the apartment of band member Jo Pierce at 10 am, July 10, 1976. _

_Police investigations are underway, but a drug overdose is suspected as the most likely cause. _

_Named after the number 7 subway line connecting Queens to Manhattan, the band had its roots in the working class neighborhood of Woodside, NY. It quickly rose to the top of local charts with the song "Worry Later." It is best known for its original songs and lyrics, and the unusual group of musicians that churn out its unlikely sound. While their controversial debut album has received mixed reviews, their live performances consistently sold out. _

_All local appearances have been cancelled. For information on ticket refunds, call 212-555-3212._

* * *

-

"Marty. If nothing else, it was worth it just to hear that crazy ass story! Yeah. Ok. Sounds good. Yeah... I'll see you next week." Lester hung up the phone, and giggled like a kid.

"What's so funny, man?" Elwood held out the newspaper, with the photo of the dead singer clearly in view. Lester's face dropped, and he sighed.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm sorry." He shook his head, trying to show respect. "The reason it's a rare album, Elwood, is cause they only made about 500 copies. And, well, then band split up. Now the lead singer is dead."

"O.D.?"

"Yeah. Poor boy. So young." Finally the tragedy was becoming more obvious to the shopkeeper.

"But the thing is that in NY, this band was pretty popular, for the few years they were together. But after that..." he pointed at the article. "After the singer died, the band split under some strange circumstances. Then the story of the band took on a life of it's own."

Elwood was suddenly transported back to the basement of St. Helen's Orphanage. It was as if he were sitting at the table, listening to Curtis tell the stories of the local shows, and the legends that surrounded the local act. Lester was no Curtis, but there were plenty of stories to tell in this world. Who knew where they would come from next?

He wondered what people would be saying about the Blues Brothers in twenty years. He wondered if they would say anything about him, or Jake, or the band at all. Would they be local legends? Or would they have nothing but an album or two for sale in a rare and obscure music shop somewhere? Would anyone ever know their crazy ass stories?

"You see, the singer was that girl's brother."

Elwood picked up the sleeve again, stared for a moment, and looked at the group photo. He was black. She was white. He looked at Lester, confused.

"I know. I know. Who knows how that happened."

The cashier, silent until now, laughed. "I do..." he said, in a jerky way, trying to be clever with a sexual reference. Elwood shot him an angry glare.

"Anyway, when they found his body in her apartment, she disappeared. Vanished. Some people think she's dead, too. That would be a double tragedy, alright."

Elwood looked at the laughing image once more. He looked concerned, and saddened.

"But no one is sure. Pretty soon, there were all these rumors going around. She changed her name. She joined the army. She joined the circus. She became a lion trainer. She became a spy for the CIA. She joined the Klan... She became a Ninja assassin."

For the first time since Lester hung up the phone, Elwood let out a little laugh.

"Someone suggested she was involved in the plot to kill the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. The band was all just her way of keeping low while she hid out from the Black Panthers."

The four men in the store all laughed. The mood had finally warmed up.

"But... But..." his voice got very serious. "But the jury is still out on Kennedy."

"And... and... someone suggested she was..." Lester paused, then broke into a fit of hysterical laughter. He eventually forced the mumbled words "alien abduction" past his lips. When his laughter subsided enough for him to breathe again, he continued on.

"The best is that she was abducted by white slavers and sold to some king back in Africa. Then...THEN she escaped and lives in the bush."

The room exploded into laughter once more. After a few minutes of laughter at the silliness of the whole story, Elwood looked at the album cover again, and then the photo of the band. His face turned very serious.

"Lester, you ever think that maybe someone in the band started all these rumors? You know, to jack up the value of their one failed album?"

There was nothing but silence throughout the store, except for the last few notes of the last track of the album. Lester looked at the record cover. He looked at Elwood. He looked back at the record cover sitting on the counter.

"Gimme five bucks, and it's yours."


	3. January 23, 1978

_January 23, 1978_

_Dear Jake,_

_I went by Lester's yesterday. He asked about you, and wanted to know where his money is. I'll pay him for you, but that means I'll have to take it out of your share when the band plays its next gig. I bought an album, and found a few new songs. Maybe the band will cover them, if we can get the sound right._

_I haven't talked to Mr. Fabulous yet. He's been out of town. I'll find him when he gets back, and get everyone's phone numbers._

_By the way, I found that pair of socks underneath the bed. I told you they'd turn up someday._

_Your brother,_

_Elwood_

_

* * *

_

"Yes. I'm calling to find out about a gig that's been cancelled."

"_Do you have your tickets already?"_

"No ma'am. I don't have tickets."

"_What show are you asking about._"

"I am not sure."

"_How can I help you, sir?"_

"I'm trying to contact the manager for a local band in NY. I don't know how to find them. This is the only number I could find."

"_Sir, what is the name of the band?"_

"It's called _The 7 Train Blues_."

"_Sir, that band has not played here for almost 2 years."_

"Do you have a phone number for a manager. Or someone?"

"_Hold, please."_

Elwood held on the line for a few minutes, and fed the public phone at least twice. He was convinced that the receptionist in NY and the telephone operator who demanded more dimes were long lost sisters. They had nearly identical voices.

Elwood thought about it as he waited at the public phone at _The Relief Pitcher_. It was a pretty good bar. No music though, only sports. He liked making his calls from here. It was too damn cold outside in the windy Chicago winter to do it at the corner pay phone.

He fed the phone another three dimes.

The story was too good. How could he not hear the whole thing? White slavery? Martin Luther King Jr?

Anyway, what else did he have to do than spend his time trying to find out something about this obscure blues band. If nothing else, it would make good ammunition, if he ever needed to shut someone up.

_"So, Elwood!"_ He imagined some drunk saying, trying to rile him up. "_You think you're so smart? You think you're such a great musician? A Blues Brother? Tell me... who was the King of Slide Guitar?"_

"That's easy. Elmore James. Now, you want a really hard question, to uh, separate the men from the boys, so to speak? Answer this one. Who was the lead singer for "7 Train Blues," outta New York, in the mid-1970s?"

He was almost guaranteed to win that challenge in a game of Blues Trivia. It made him smile.

"_Sir, are you still there."_

"Yeaah-up."

"_I would recommend you contact someone at Willets Point Records, located at 42-34..." _

"Hold on while I get my pen..."

Elwood took down the address, scribbling it on his palm. He tried to memorize it at the same time, just in case it wore off.

* * *

_January 24, 1978_

_To the Management at Willets Point Records,_

_I am trying to make contact the band "7 Train Blues." My band, The Blues Brothers, is interested in obtaining permission to record one of their songs called "Fifth Floor Apartment." Please let me know where I can contact one of the band members or the manager. _

_Sincerly,_

_Elwood Blues, Esq._

* * *

_February 1, 1978_

_Dear Mr. Blues,_

_I have forwarded this letter on to the appropriate agents. We are not at the liberty to forward such personal information ourselves. You should expect to hear from someone shortly._

_Sincerely,_

_Richard F. Lehman_

_WPR, Co._

* * *

_February 9, 1978_

_Dear Mr. Blues,_

_I assure you, I have forwarded this letter on to the appropriate agents, twice. I do not know exactly when or if they have gotten it. Please refrain from any further contact with this company. I consider your request fulfilled._

_Sincerely,_

_Richard F. Lehman_

_WPR, Co_

_cc. Sargent Truman, 109__th__ Precinct_

* * *

_February 13, 1978_

_I heard that you were looking for my band. We don't play anymore. Stop writing us, and stop writing the record company. They're gonna call the cops._

_If your going to make up a name, you could at least be more original than "Elwood Blues."_

_Darrell Steves_

* * *

"_How the hell did you get my number?"_

"Information. You signed your name on the letter, so I called information."

"_There are six people listed as "D. Steves" in Queens alone!" _

"I figured I'd start with an address in Jamaica. You know, from your song, _Jamaica All Over._"

The explanation satisfied Darrell on the other end of the phone.

"_You're calling from Chicago?"_

"Yeeaah-up."

"_You're telling me that our album is a hit in Chicago?"_

"No. I never heard of you before. But I bought it for five bucks at a local record store."

"_Five bucks? Shit. I'd think they could get at least twenty... What do you want with me? An interview?"_

The voice on the other end of the line seemed frustrated. Elwood couldn't tell if he just didn't want to talk about it, or if he was tired of getting these calls all the time.

"No sir. I'm not a reporter. I'm a musician."

"_You mean you really do want to record our songs?" _Darrell asked, in disbelief.

"Not record. Just play a few of them."

"_You said record."_

"It sounded more official like. You see, my brother's locked up in the joint. We don't have a record contract right now."

"_You just wanna cover them? What the fuck do you want from me? Just sing the damn songs! You're a musician. Figure it out."_

Elwood knew that the man on the other end of the line was right. He didn't need permission to cover the songs. And there was no band, so this was just an elaborate rouse anyway.

Truth was, he was bored. Without Jake, he found himself wondering what to do with himself. Sometimes, he'd get an odd job here or there, making some quick cash fixing up a car or two. He'd haunt the local bars, and the music shops whenever he could. He'd visit Jake, and write him letters. He even tried to keep track of the band like he said he would, but already everyone was moving on.

Over the past few weeks, he found himself listening more and more to "7 Train Blues." He'd started to figure out the songs, and found a few that were starting to grow on him. Some of them were garbage, but there were a few good numbers.

Tracking down this band in NY, and trying to figure out what happened to Jo Pierce? Well, at least that was something to do. It was something to think about, other than Jake and the band.

"Mr. Steves, I've got all the notes. But as a musician yourself, you know that it's not just about playing some notes."

There was silence on the other end of the phone, as if he was trying to assess the situation. Elwood decided to show him what he meant.

"I got the notes, but I don't know how to play 'em. The way they're supposed to be played."

Elwood let go of the phone, and let the receiver dangle down from the pay phone. He took out his harmonica and began playing a the opening harmonica solo from Fifth Floor. He decided it was his favorite song by the band. It wasn't that there was a lot of competition. But he liked playing the fast opening solo.

When he was done, he picked up the phone again.

"I got the music. I can't figure out what it means."

"_It's just a song. It means something different to everyone."_

Elwood thought about that for a moment. Then he asked the question he really wanted to know from the very beginning.

"Well, what did it mean to her?"

"_What?"_

"That girl. Jo Pierce. She wrote it. She sang it. What did it mean to her?"

"_How the hell would I know?"_

Maybe he was telling the truth. If music meant something different to everybody, how would he know.

"Well, why was she laughing? In that photo? On your album?"

Again, Elwood's question was answered with a moment of silence.

"_You'd have to ask her that, Mr. Blues."_

"Is she still alive?"

"_Why wouldn't she be?"_

"I've heard some strange stories about her. What happened to her? After Franklin died..."

With that, Elwood heard the phone click, and the dial tone.

* * *

_February 14, 1978_

_Dear Jake,_

_I finally got in touch with Mr. Fabulous. He's really excited about playing again. I told him I'd start looking out for our next gig. I told him we'd have to find some new songs to play, too, since I'm gonna have to carry the vocals until you get out. _

_I may have found a few new songs by a nothing band out of New York. They've got a couple of good songs though. I think you'll like them. Heavy on the harp, so I can do them while you're in the joint. Next time I come to visit, I'll try them out for you, to see what you think._

_I forgot it's Valentine's Day. I'll bring you something to celebrate it with, when I come to visit next week._

_Your brother,_

_Elwood_

* * *

_February 17, 1978_

_Dear Elwood,_

_I spoke with Jo over the phone today. She said you could write to her, if you want. _

_Josephine Pierce_

_29 Bawende_

_Nagale_

_Minkala Province_

_The Republic of Mmbito_

_Darrell_

_PS - You're a damn good musician. I hope you figure it all out._

* * *

A/N: Don't bother to look that up. There's no such place. Just go with it... 


	4. February 21, 1978

_February 21, 1978_

_Dear Miss Pierce,_

_My name is Elwood Blues. Darrell Steves directed me to you. I have a few questions for you, if you wouldn't mind answering them for me._

_A few weeks ago, I bought a copy of your band's album. I'm a blues musician myself, and am in a band called The Blues Brothers. I play the blues harp and I sometimes sing. My brother Jake is the lead singer. _

_I liked your songs, and I was wondering if we could cover them at our next gig. _

_I have been practicing your song "Fifth Floor Apartment on Fire," but I can't get it right. But if I understood what you were thinking, maybe I could get it right._

_In the third verse, you sang how you barely got out alive. What do you mean? Were you burned in a fire? It's not something you hear about all the time in a blues song, although it would admitedly make someone pretty sad. And who was the guy you are singing about? Was he a fireman?_

_Since I'm spending the quarter for a stamp, there's something else that has been bothering me. There is a photo of the band on the album, and you're the only one laughing. Why? Who made you laugh?_

_As a blues musician yourself, you understand why I need to get behind the meaning of a song. Since yours was so unusual, I thought I had to write to you._

_Sincerly,_

_Elwood J. Blues_

* * *

- 

He was surprised to be getting a letter. Usually they couldn't track him down, those bill collectors, and the police officers with a summons. He reached under the glass and pulled the envelope out, and thanked the old man watching t.v. in the enclosed cube.

The letter was light as a feather, with a red, white and blue border. AIR MAIL was stamped on the paper several times, and three colorful stamps decorated the front. He didn't recognize the words on the postage, or even the language.

"I'll be damned."

It had been almost three weeks since he sent her the letter. After the first week he figured she changed her mind and didn't want to talk. After week three, he figured that he had been given the run around by that Darrell guy.

_"He wants a good story, have him bark up a wrong tree in Africa. Maybe he'll stop calling here."_

This week, Elwood occupied his mind with another project. He had to do something to save himself from the deadly boredom. Each night, it so happened, someone parked a red Chevy in the spot usually reserved (unofficially) for the Bluesmobile. So it became Elwood's mission to break in and remove the radio. He didn't steal it. He just removed it. Then he left it on the floor in front of the passenger side seat. Every morning, that poor jerk found his radio hanging by wires on the floor. Every day he wired it back up. Elwood was on night number three.

Tonight, Mr. Red Chevy might get a rest.

He opened the letter. The date was March 8, 1978. He hadn't considered the time it would take to send a letter to Mmbito. Two weeks? Where the hell was Mmbito, anyway? And how the hell did you even say Mmbito?

He folded the letter back into the envelope and went to his tiny room to read it in private.

* * *

_-_

_March 8, 1978_

_Dear Mr. Blues,_

_I received your letter last week, but only had a chance to respond today. It is not often that I get news from the states. Your letter was most welcome. I had been expecting it, since Darrell told me how you were trying to track down our band. I am surprised and a bit flattered that you would go to such efforts to find us._

_I was surprised by the questions you asked. "Fifth Floor", and the photo taken at the Bottom Line remind me of my best memories and my worst nightmares._

_I don't remember exactly why I was laughing when we took that photo. Our drummer, Nick Haywood, had a way of always making me laugh. He was very funny, with a very good sense of humor. It was subtle and dry, with some sarcasm mixed in for good measure. He was, above all else, erudite. But no one usually understood the jokes. That's probably why only I was laughing._

_"Fifth Floor Apartment" was a song I wrote for a music class I took at college. One of my majors was music. I also met Nick there. I guess you can say that the song was about how I grew up, and how I was glad to make it out of the old neighborhood, especially when it started to burn up all around me._

_My brother, Franklin, was also the lead singer in our band, and he played guitar. I also play blues harmonica. We seem to have some things in common._

_I am sorry that I don't have much more to say in the way of explanation. I hope that this at least answered some of your questions._

_If you ever do get the chance to play one of my songs, please let me know. I would love to hear you sing it, but we have no way to play them here in the village._

_Sincerely_

_Josephine Pierce_

_P.S. - Is your last name really Blues?_

_

* * *

_

A white college chick singing the blues? It figured. You don't sing the blues from a college dorm room. You don't learn it at a frat house. You learn it in the basement of the orphanage you grew up in, with the janitor who lived in the boiler room. You learned it living life out on the street.

They were lucky that even a few of their songs were any good at all. Elwood imagined that they were popular among the rich white college kids, trying to "get down with the brothers." Elwood had her all figured out, now. The neighborhood burning up around her? Probably meant that some of those colored folks bought the corner house. Maybe the rumor about Martin Luther King Jr. or the Klan wasn't a rumor after all.

"Lady, we have nothing in common."

He thought about this chick, drinking coffee in some café outside of Columbia University. Suddenly, she's approached by the Klan, trained as a Ninja assassin, then recruited to help in their dastardly little plot. While they're at it, they'll go after JFK, too. After it's over, she hides out in NYC, under the guise of a rich co-ed. She adopts a black brother, to be more convincing. Suddenly, the Black Panthers get wind of the whole thing, kidnap her, then ship her off to Mmbito, where she has to live in some hut.

Elwood laughed, then shook his head. "Nah! The dates don't work right." After all, the dates always have to work right when you write a story. When you mix up the dates, things are difficult to follow. Always be careful of the dates.

He wasn't sure if he could pull it off, but he decided to play the game out some more.

* * *

_-_

_March 16, 1978_

_Dear Miss Pierce,_

_Thank you. Your answers helped explain a lot about your music, and about you._

_Why did you say that the song and your photo was about your nightmares? I would understand if you were in a fire, but you said you weren't._

_Yes. My last name really is Blues. So is my brother's last name. Usually that's how it works, but we didn't always have the same last names. We grew up together at St. Helen's Orphanage, outside of Chicago, Illinois. We are real brothers now, though._

_Speaking of brothers, you mentioned that Franklin was your brother. But his last name is Jones. Since your last name is Pierce, I assume you are married. Please explain to your husband that I am writing to you only as one musician to another. I wouldn't mind if you mentioned that as a stage performer, I need to keep my legs in perfect working order._

_But I have to ask you one thing. Is it true that you were kidnapped and dragged off to Africa? I guess if you can get letters, you aren't a captive anymore. But that's the rumor I heard, anyway. I also heard some stories about alien abductions, but considering where I am mailing this letter, I decided to rule that possibility out._

_Anyway, would you like me to send a message to your husband for you? Let him know you are alright? Or has Darrell already done that? On second thought, maybe you'd better let Darrell do that. The last thing Mr. Pierce wants is a tall, handsome, single blues musician telling him the whereabouts of his long lost wife._

_Sincerely,_

_Elwood J. Blues_

* * *

_-_

_March 27, 1978_

_Dear Mr. Blues,_

_Thank you for writing back. Your letter made me laugh! In fact, it made my day. It has been a particularly bad one, so that was no small achievement._

_But I must admit that I am a bit confused by the white slavery question. What do you mean? Is that what people at home think? I am most surprised, especially since everyone from my band knows where I am. I think Nick must have been joking, if he told you that. He really liked to tell stories. Or perhaps you are just making another joke? Sometimes it is hard to understand meaning from the written word. Facial expressions do held decipher meaning. _

_Yes. Franklin was my brother, but not in a legal sense. I went to live with his family when I was 16. It really was fictive kinship that we had. It was unusual especially because it was cross-racial. But I still consider him to be my brother. He died from a drug overdose a short while after I graduated from college. He was a lost soul, perhaps. _

_A__fter that, I didn't know what to do, since he was the only family I really had. That's why I joined the Peace Corps. Did I never mention that to you? I am a Peace Corps volunteer. I will be here until December 1980._

_Sometimes I wonder why I signed up, but it has been a wonderful experience. I teach English to children in a little village named Bawende. I have 23 students under my tutelage, representing all ages, from 8 up to 16. Sometimes, when I go into Nagale, I will stay at the orphanage and teach some English to the children there, too. Sometimes I teach them Latin. Since you were in an orphanage, you can imagine that setting. Did the nuns ever make you study Latin?_

_Nagale is the closest town, about 20 miles away. I only go into town a few times a month because of the distance. Bawende is a poor village with only one car. It doesn't run anymore, so I usually have to walk 3 miles to the main road, and then catch a local van into town to make phone calls or mail a letter._

_No. I am not married. But how very kind of you to offer to contact him and let him know his wife is alive and well and living in Africa! You are a true gentleman._

_It seems we have more in common than I thought, Mr. Blues. I enjoyed reading your letter, and would welcome more like it. As I said, news, and especially mail from the states, does not make it to the village very often. News that makes me smile arrives even less frequently. Perhaps my next letter will be less melancholy. I will make every effort to prepare some stories to that effect._

_I look forward to your next letter._

_Sincerely,_

_Josephine_

* * *

_-_

_April 4, 1978_

_Dear Josephine,_

_I am glad to hear you are not married. Husbands can get jealous, especially when they have pretty wives. Unfortunately, I can't say anything about you, except that you have a very pretty smile, and a real nice figure when you are bent over._

_Would you send me a more recent photograph? Maybe with a dictionary?_

_Sincerely,_

_Elwood_

_P.S. - Is your first name really Josephine?_

_P.P.S. - I failed Latin._

* * *

_-_

_April 12, 1978_

_Dear Elwood,_

_Thank you for your short letter. It made me laugh. It also was very embarrassing. _

_I think I owe you an apology and an explanation._

_I don't get a chance to speak English with native English speakers too often. I guess I do sound like an uptight librarian who wears her panties too tight and wears her hair in a bun. I'm just not used to speaking English anymore, if you can believe that. The nuns usually speak to me in Portuguese, and the people here can use any of the seven local languages. Sometimes they use Swahili._

_To be quite honest, it's all a big pain in the ass._

_The kids want me to teach them how to curse in English. I tell them that in America, women can't curse, so I never learned how. I think they know I'm lying._

_You probably think I'm some prissy white bitch pretending to be black. The blues band. Moving to Africa. A black brother. Who knows? Maybe I have become that, but here in a small village in the middle of nowhere, who'd know any differently? And who cares? Being alone sometimes has advantages. Although I can't blend in on the outside, sometimes keeping things to myself is really good._

_Now, about that photo. I can't possibly take another one of me bent over. The villagers will get the wrong ideas. Anyway, you already have me at a disadvantage. At least you have seen that one photo of me, with my band. So, you send me a photo of you. _

_As far as a dictionary, go find a public library. I am sure that some old maid librarian in support hose would be happy to take care of a tall, handsome, and single blues musician like you._

_Then again, I don't really know if you are that tall or handsome. I prefer color photos._

_Tell me all the news from Chicago. Tell me about your band and your brother. I sometimes miss the states. I really miss chocolate and ice cream the most. I miss sleeping on a real bed. I miss plumbing. I really miss plumbing. And most of all, I really miss speaking English._

_Your favorite debutante,_

_Mademoiselle Josephine_

* * *

_-_

_April 20, 1978_

_Dear Jake,_

_How are you doing? I'm doing ok. _

_Last week, we had two cancellations. I think it's because of the price of gas these days. These joints were way out of town, and they can't get people to drive that far. The band was really upset, I tell you. But we'll get something else. They've got regular paying gigs now, anyway, so it don't matter all that much. Not for the money anyway._

_Even I've been picking up more work lately, fixing motors. That's why I've not been around as much._

_By the way, I had to throw those socks out, after all. I'll buy you a new pair._

_Look, I think I'm gonna need some advice about women from my older brother. I met some chick at our last gig, and I would like to get to know her, so I need some of those good pick up lines you use. Between you and me, I'm not as good with that sort of stuff as you are. So make a list, and I'll pick it up when I visit._

_Your brother,_

_Elwood_


	5. April 28, 1978

"You're shitting me. That's the song you wanna play?"

"Yeah. Why not?" Elwood said through the telephone, as he put the harp back in his pocket.

"It stinks! Stick with Rubber Biscuit. Tell me about the band, Elwood! What's going on!"

"It's been slow. Murph broke his ankle, so he's been out of commission."

"How'd he do that?"

"He got it stuck in a drainage gate. In the gutter."

"Shit."

"He was drunk," Elwood said, and Jake nodded. "So, we're taking a little break. It's not the same without you, anyway."

"Who gives a fuck about me! You gotta keep going! Like an army, man. One guy falls, the rest of you go on! You gotta do it. Trust me on this one, Elwood! You gotta keep playing!" Jake yelled at his brother behind the glass. He waved his free hand around for emphasis.

Elwood calmly nodded his head, then looked around, a bit distracted and maybe a little nervous.

"What's wrong?"

Elwood shrugged.

"You're acting weird."

Elwood raised his eyebrows, then reclined a bit in his seat, crossing his arms across his chest. His purposeful movements were a bit too smooth and calculated, which made his nervousness even more obvious. Jake drew his face closer to the glass, looked at him with a devilish glare, then whispered into the phone.

"What's this chick like?"

Elwood was a little surprised.

"What chick?" His innocent look made him look more guilty. He seemed to almost bounce as he nodded his head again, looking around.

"Come on, you little shit. You wrote about it in your last letter. You know! Jake! Get out your magic list of come on lines."

Elwood was surprised at himself. Suddenly he kind of felt a bit more comfortable writing things down than talking about them. Even with his brother.

"Come ON! What is she like?" Jake whispered in a greedy way. "Did you get her in the sack yet?"

"No!" Elwood yelled back, defensively.

"What's your problem?"

"I, uh, don't even know her yet." How was he going to explain to his brother that he wanted to impress a girl with words, not with fancy footwork or a raised eyebrow or two. And there was no way he was going to tell him that she wasn't even in the same state... or even the same continent!

"What's your problem? Damn! What's she look like?"

"Uh, reddish hair... I think."

"You think?"

"It was dark."

"Ok," Jake accepted that excuse.

"A nice smile."

"Nice smile? What the fuck is that?"

"A nice smile..." he said shrugging off the question.

"What about her tits? And ass?"

"You've been locked up too long, Jake."

"And her legs... oh man, gimme details, El! I want play by play details! You're outside. You gotta get enough for BOTH of us! You know I'd do it for you..."

"Well, she looks great bent over..."

Jake's ears pricked up and his grin widened. Elwood immediately felt uncomfortable about it.

"I mean... well, she was bending down. That's all I mean."

"So, when do you see her again."

"I dunno."

"Just act natural, you know."

Jake looked at Elwood through the glass, still looking around nervously, head bobbing up and down.

"On second thought, don't."

"What the fuck does that mean, you asshole?"

"You get nervous. So try this. Walk up to her and ask her, really calm and slow, if she'd like to join you at a hotel for the evening."

"I'm not gonna ask her that!"

"Ok. A few hours."

"You douche-bag..."

"Or you can say "let's get a room and screw each other's brains out." But that's not your style, really. So ask her politely if she'd meet you there. Suggest a time, smile a little, and be cool about it."

Elwood stared at his brother through the glass, and through his sunglasses. He slowly shook his head.

"Or you can just do her in the back of the Bluesmobile."

"That's the best you got?"

"Always works for me."

* * *

- 

_April 28, 1978_

_To my perfect little debutante,_

_I know that maybe it's too soon, but I really enjoyed your last letter. So maybe, if you're not doing anything in December, we could maybe meet for a drink? Let's say, around 1980 or so?_

_Your one and only blues man,_

_Elwood_

_P.S. - I'm sending you some chocolate from home. You said you missed it. Give it to the kids if you're watching your figure. Don't worry. I'll be watching your figure, too. Let's say, in 1980 or so?_

_P.P.S. - The one on the right is me. The guy on the left is my brother Jake. I'll try to get a better photo soon. I don't have any without my sunglasses on. I'll have to get one taken._

_P.P.S. - Try to convince one of the nuns to take a picture of you bending over, ok? Maybe if you ask in Latin, they'll do it._

* * *

- 

_April 26, 1978_

_Dear Elwood,_

_Today was a National Holiday, so I got the day off. It's like 4th of July here. It's their independence day, when they kicked the Portuguese out in 1967. Everyone takes the day off. The American Embassy invited all Americans in the country to go on a day of touring. The embassy types all live in the capital, and one city is like every other one, right? So they like to get out and see the real countryside._

_There were people from all over, and guess what! There was one guy from Chicago. He's a hydrologist. Anyway, I told him I had a friend from Chicago, and when I told him about you, he was very excited. He knows your band and likes your music, and has seen you in concert. I was so excited to hear all about your show, and how good it is. I think maybe I was too excited. He asked how long we were together. I told him we were just pen pals, and so there was nothing between us. I didn't know what else to say._

_He told me about the show, and he said you were a great dancer. Next time you play, I would love to see it on film. If you can swing it, that is. I know it's hard, and I would have to get to the capital to find a film projector, but I would love to see you perform._

_We went to a National Park, and there were waterfalls and a beautiful tropical forest. When people think of Africa, they think of desert and starving kids living in huts. Really, there are places here that are like paradise. I never saw anything so green in my whole life. And the water was crystal clear. I imagine this is what much of the country looked like before the Portuguese came a hundred years ago._

_The guys from the Embassy took some photos, and they said they'd send some copies to me. I will send you a few of them, if they come out nice._

_I often wonder why I signed up for this crazy job. But on days like today, I remember why. I studied history and natural sciences in college, so this is all just perfect for me. I wish you could be here, so I could show you what I am seeing, too. I'll tell you more when I get photos._

_I'm staying at the orphanage tonight, and will head back to Bawende after a few days. You never gave me your phone number. This would have been the best time to make a call, while I am in town for a few days. It can take a while to make the connections. I spoke with Darrell and Nick today, but next time I'd like to talk with you, too. Maybe sometime in July? They are organizing another trip for Fourth of July, for our holiday. I want to go, and maybe I can stay overnight here again. Let me know, and we can make plans for a phone date._

_Yours truly,_

_Jo_

_

* * *

-_

_May 23, 1978_

_Dear Josephine,_

_I sent you a package a few weeks ago. Maybe you didn't get it yet. It had chocolate in it, since you said you missed it. Now I hope you didn't get it, because I sent a letter too, but I said some things in the letter than I shouldn't have. Maybe you read the letter the wrong way. I was just joking when I said all that stuff. I mean, you said you liked it when I made you laugh. So I was just being funny._

_Are my letters getting through? I don't write to many people, so I don't know how good the mail is. I guess we have to assume that our letters will cross in the mail. I will write to you, if that's ok, even before I get reply. Would that be ok? Darrell knows where to find me, if he wants to break my legs._

_Anyway, just in case I made you mad, or in case you didn't get the letter, I'm rewriting what I wrote there here now._

_-Elwood_

_P.S. - I'm not sending chocolate in this envelope._

_Dear Miss Pierce,_

_I thought you'd like these fine chocolates, made by none other than Hershey's Chocolate, out of Hershey, Pennsylvania. It's the finest in American Chocolates, and the best you can buy. If you don't want them though, the kids in your class will enjoy them._

_I am also including a photo of me and my brother Jake. I'm the one on the_

_(I don't have the picture anymore, so I don't know which side I was on.)_

_I sent you some chocolates and a photo, like you asked. But since you didn't get it, here's another photo of me and my brother. We're standing in front of the Bluesmobile. That's my car. She's a 1968 black Fleetwood Cadillac. She's beautiful. When I give her a nice wax, she's beautiful. I do all my own repairs. I went to school for that. I'm a really good mechanic now, too. I do that when there aren't any gigs around. Sometimes I can bring home $200 a week, if business is good. I fixed up the Caddy myself, and I take good care of her. I think I said she's really beautiful. I don't know what I would do without a good car. I think I would go crazy. There's nothing better in this world than a good motor and driving down the road, going to new places, seeing the country. Like travelling with the band. We've been all over the United States. Did you ever go on the road? I'd take you on the road with me, but that wouldn't be proper._

_I went out driving yesterday. No place special. I was just thinking about Jake, and the band. I thought about you in Africa, too, and how everyone probably stares at you. You may think it's because you are the only American girl around, in your American blue jeans and a t-shirt, but it's probably because you're the prettiest thing they'd ever seen. I don't know if that's what you wear, but that's what you were wearing on the album. And since I haven't seen you elsewhere, that's all I can think of._

_No chance I could get one of those pictures of you, yet? Is there? Of you at the park? I sure would like to see your lovely face._

_So yesterday, while I was out driving, I got lost for a while. Drove for almost 3 hours. I guess I wasn't paying enough attention to the signs. Next thing I knew, I wound up in Carbondale. I had to spend the night. There was this new guy playing. Young kid named Paul. Tall Paul they called him. He was a pretty good blues singer, too. Also made me think of you, playing for some college kids in New York. Except he plays in a biker bar._

_I guess sometimes it's good to wander. I don't know how you do it, though, so far away from home. You must feel lonely. I do too sometimes. Write to me whenever you feel lonely._

_You never answered my question, back from the first letter I wrote. What did you mean by nightmares?_

_Hoping you are well,_

_Elwood J. Blues_

.

(A/N - mapquest the distance from Chicago to Carbondale. You may get the joke then)

* * *

_-_

_May 23, 1978_

_Dear Jake,_

_Sorry I missed coming to see you this week. We got a gig down in Carbondale. They liked us so much, they had us stay the whole week. See you soon._

_By the way, that was a stupid idea you had, about inviting that chick to the motel. I can't believe you ever get laid._

_Elwood_

* * *

- 

_May 26_

_Dear Jo,_

_I talked to a friend of mine who was in the army. In Nam. He said that the mail sometimes gets stolen, or lost when you send it overseas. Especially packages. So I wanted to write to you again, in case the other letters don't get through. I sent a package, but that must be long gone._

_I don't want to write the same old stuff again. If you never get those letters, maybe that's good. So let me just some them up. I would like to meet you, and I think about you a lot. I'm working a lot, saving up, and playing in the band. I've been waiting for your reply, and hope you like writing to me. I hope I haven't ruined it. I can be a jerk, I know. I've been doing that all my life, messing things up. I'm sorry._

_Yesterday, the band had a great big gig. It was great. There were about 300 people in the audience. We made a whole lot of money on that gig. Maybe $500. I'll have to split it with the band, but I'm thinking of using it to put in a phone. Then we can talk, when you go into town, like you said._

_I guess you met one of those Embassy guys again. I'm glad that you have friends there who you can speak to in English, like you wanted. You deserve to have someone nice, with a nice job, right there to look after you._

_Did you know, they make diplomats take all kinds of medical tests before they go overseas? I read that at the library today. They usually aren't all that healthy, mainly because they travel around a lot, and see a lot of different kinds of women and people. Just be careful. I don't want you to get hurt._

_Your very good friend,_

_Elwood_

* * *

_-_

_May 1, 1978_

_Dear Elwood,_

_I haven't heard from you in a while. The mail can be awful here. Sometimes, I can only get into town once a week to check the mail. People from the village go into Nagale all the time, and I gave them permission to pick up any mail for me, in case it comes before I can get into town._

_I think they know now that I am waiting for letters from you._

_We've been writing back and forth for some time. I hate how slow the mail is. Some days, I hate everything about this place. Then you know what happened yesterday? One of my students, Naseem, came by while I was doing some housework and asked me if I would teach him to play blues harp. I couldn't believe it. I don't play very often. I really haven't played much since Franklin died. But I guess he heard me once._

_I didn't think I'd ever play again. It was too painful. The music is just too painful. But Naseem really wants to learn. Who am I to discourage him? We are going to have a lesson later._

_Someone just came in from Nagale._

_I got the package from you. That was so sweet, Elwood! And the letter was really funny. The kids did love the chocolates. I hope you don't mind. Things like that are hard to come by. I can hold out on the curse words, but not on chocolate! Anyway, thank you. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me, but the mail has just been terrible lately._

_You said you sent chocolates from home. But I think you should know that I don't feel like I have a home. Remember, that apartment went up in smoke a long time ago. I didn't come from a nice family like you probably think I did. They weren't terrible, but they weren't the Cleavers, either. But now, home isn't really anywhere anymore. That's why I don't talk about home. Places where I sleep, or where I know people. I guess when Franklin's family took me in, that was what I imagined to be a home. But when Franklin died, they blamed me, and that was it. So I guess I am a bit of a lost soul._

_Thank you for sending me a photo. Is that the band's look? I bet you love putting those suits on at night for a gig. One of the chocolate bars melted on them. It's a little ruined, but I can still see you. But not your face. Well, I can see your chin. Still, I can see you are both handsome men. You have a nice chin. What color is your hair? Black or brown? And your eyes? I want to find a frame in town. Maybe just a piece of glass._

_Like you asked, I am including a photo of me and two of my students. Nasseem is on the left, and Kindra is on the right. I'm the one in the middle. Can you tell? I just cut my hair here. It's hard to wash it here, without plumbing and shampoo, so I have to keep it short. The little building in the background is mine. I bet you expected a hut. When it's hot, that would be better than concrete, but they think Americans should have concrete houses._

_I know you're not supposed to have favorite students, but these two are mine._

_I don't know what the mail is like, so I will write to you more often, if you'd like._

_Yours truly,_

_Jo_

_P.S. - Even in Latin, I don't think they'll take that kind of photo._

* * *

_-_

_May 28, 1978_

_Dear Jo,_

_Don't say you're a lost soul. Just because you are lost, doesn't mean you have to be lonely. If you want, we could sort of be lost, together, cause that's how I am too. That's how Jake and I were, before we found each other. Except we found each other when we were kids. Still, I know what you feel._

_Thank you for the photo. I got a frame for it, too. I didn't know your hair was so blond. It's real pretty. So are you. Here I am, alone in Chicago, and the prettiest girl in the world is all the way over in Africa somewhere. The more I think of it, seems like I never had much luck in life._

_I went to the library today, to look up some more information about Mmbito. I learned how to pronounce it, too. I had to renew my library card. It has been a long time. I never go to the library. Then again, I never really write letters. There's no one to write to, except to Jake. And now you._

_Jake and I were Curtis' favorites at the orphanage. But he wasn't a teacher. That's what the nuns did, until they sent us out to real school. He was the janitor. He taught us everything about music, life women._

_I still don't have a camera, so I will have to get a photo for you and send it to you next time. There's a machine at the five and dime. They have a machine there that takes them while you wait. I will get one for you._

_I was worried when I didn't get a letter from you. When you find something nice, you want to take care of it. So I was worried._

_Your lost - but not lonely - soul man,_

_Elwood_

* * *

- 

_May 28, 1978_

_Dear Jake,_

_I saw that chick again. Remember the one I told you about?_

_I just wanted to tell you that I tried it my own way, and I scored. Big time. That's why I didn't come to see you last week. I was doing her in the back of the Bluesmobile. It was amazing._

_Maybe you should listen to me sometimes. Sometimes a little class goes a long way. Why the hell do you think we wear these suits? Don't you remember Curtis telling us that?_

_No gigs this week. Maybe next week. _

_Mr. Fabulous says you're a real dick for giving me that advice._

_Elwood_


	6. May 12, 1978

A/N: Don't be afraid. Latin is your friend. (Most of it comes with translation. Roll with it.)

Latin phrases and pick-up lines are from _Latin for All Occasions_, by Henry Beard.

No nuns were harmed in the writing of this section. The blood of one Mary Sue, however, is beginning to flow.

-

* * *

- 

_May 12, 1978_

_Dear Elwood,_

_I'm writing from the capital, so this will be short. I was able to get away and take a little trip to Ridobo. It's a nice city, which I don't get a chance to visit enough. The ex-pat community is small, but the are a nice, close group. I'll be staying with some people from the embassy for a few days._

_We spent some time at the beach. I took some photos there. If they come out, I'll send you some. The embassy guys did finally get me those copies of the photos from the park. I am just including these three. The others were a bit too embarrassing, since I didn't have a change of clothes after going swimming._

_I told some people about the box of chocolates you sent. They said you should have sent it to the embassy. Safer that way. They said we were lucky it arrived at all. I don't get packages from the states, so I really don't know much about this._

_I won't be back for a few days, but I am hoping that I find a letter or two when I get back. It would be the perfect end to this week._

_Sincerely,_

_Josephine_

_P.S. - I still haven't gotten the guts up to ask Sister Ana to take those photos. _

_P.P.S. - I have been practicing my Latin._ Tempus dulcissime oblecto. Volo ut mecum adsis.

* * *

- 

_April 18, 1978_

_Dear Elwood,_

_I reread your first letter to me, and it seems that I never did answer all your questions. I didn't know who you were. In fact, I still don't know who you are, but somehow having an anonymous ear to confess to on the other side of the world seems like a nice thing to have. Not everyone is that lucky._

_You asked me why I was laughing in that photo. I remember that day quite well. We had just finished practising. A photographer hired by Willets Point Records came in to shoot us for the album._

_When you asked why I laughed, all I could remember was Nick, our drummer. He always had me in stitches. He would toss around crazy facts and trivia that no one would ever know anything about. One day, it would be something about a Civil War battle no one knew about. The next it would be about classical Japanese theater. I was in a few classes with him at the community college I was going to at the time, and he would spew out trivia, I think, just to annoy the faculty. He was such a geek, but we loved him for it._

_I hear he plays in a punk rock band now. He's got a green Mohawk and a pin through his ear._

_But now that I think back, it was my brother who made me laugh so hard that day._

_Franklin was the backbone of the band. He was the manager, and the fire under our asses. He wanted it more than anything in the world. He was even the one who talked me into writing the songs. He got me into learning to blow harp, and wanted me to take music up at college. I owed him so much, how could I say no to him? How could I?_

_The problem was that he wanted everything too fast. He wouldn't settle for playing existing hits. Doing covers. The others would have been happy that way. Not Franklin. He thought we'd make it big by turning out original hits. Maybe he was right, but the timing was all wrong. We didn't have enough music yet to make that happen. I didn't have it in me at that point. Maybe one or two of our better songs, mixed in with a few classics would have been a better idea. But he wouldn't have it. I'm surprised no one walked out on him earlier._

_When the photographer came in, Franklin got very serious, then ordered us to line up. We had to all stand up straight and act like what he thought a real blues band would look like. No smiles. No laughter. He thought the only way people would respect you was to look like life had been real bad. That was the definition of the blues, he was convinced._

_Just as the photographer took that photo, he said "Come on guys. Look like someone is about to kick you in the nuts," or something like that._

_Of course, as a woman, it was ridiculous from my point of view. And out of all of us, Franklin was the one who had the least right to say that. He had the nice middle class family, the white picket fence. And I think he hated that. Anyway, I just couldn't see it. I couldn't take that whole thing seriously._

_He was really mad at me for laughing. He demanded the photographer take more photos, that we get it right. But each time I just laughed harder. And he'd get madder than hell. By the end of the shoot, all of us were hysterical laughing, except for him._

_Now that I think back, it makes me sad knowing that I will always be immortalized on that damn album cover as laughing at my own brother. Maybe that's one of the nightmares that I'll always have._

_Jo_

* * *

- 

_June 3, 1978_

_Dear Jo,_

_You can't feel bad about Franklin like that. He was right. Being a blues singer is all about life laughing at you when you're down. It's a really hard life, babe. If you didn't get that when you were in the band, you weren't really singing the blues._

_I'd offer to help you out there, but I don't want you to be down like that. Not if I can help it._

_But you know what feeling so low does? It makes you remember that you're living. You know, if it don't hurt, are you really feeling it at all?_

_Seems like he wanted some of that feeling for himself. Too many people just go through life in the slow lane. Everybody passes you by, and you're too afraid to pull out to the left lane. So they keep doing the speed limit, caught behind some old man in polyester suit who can't barely see over the wheel._

_Franklin just wanted to feel alive. For once in his white, middle class life, he wanted to be black. Cause it has nothing to do with the color of your skin. Curtis taught us that. Can you understand that?_

_Sometimes when I drive the Bluesmobile, everything seems better, and like life isn't passing me by.__  
_

_You can't feel bad for him for wanting that, baby. At least he had the guts to pull out into that left lane. Maybe he crashed doing it, but you can't beat yourself up because of the way he was driving._

_I don't want you to take that road. But if you ever feel like you need to, to see what you're missing, promise me you won't jump into some stranger's car. I'll let you ride shotgun._

_Your driver,_

_Elwood_

* * *

- 

_June 5, 1978_

_My sweetest Josephine,_

_I didn't tell you how much I liked those pictures of you at the park. I mean, I really liked them. I've got them right by my bed, and I look at them all the time. I wish you'd send the other ones, too. Please? It would be like you were here. And I could see different pose each day. Take some photos for me, please.  
_

_But what's with the Latin? I had a whole bunch of flashbacks to some big nun in 8th grade smacking a ruler across my knuckles in Latin class. Who knew there wasn't a Latin word - _**Fuccum** ?**  
**

_Tell me, are you some kind of nun, messing with my head? Testing me? Cause if you are, I've got a whole lot of confessing to do. It's not right thinking about nuns that way. And that poor priest I wind up confessing to? He won't stand a chance._

_I leave the rest of those thoughts up to you._

_You know, I've got a tattoo on my finger with a crucifix. Jake and I got them before we left school. We figured the nuns wouldn't run the ruler cross the crucifix, would they?_

_We were wrong._

_Anyway, I had to go to the library again to get a Latin dictionary. I can't remember anything from Latin except that big old nun. There was a nun at St. Helen's named Sister Mary Stigmata. We called her The Penguin. She'd beat me and Jake everyday. Twice on Saturday, so she could rest on Sunday._

_But my 8th grade Latin teacher at St. Christopher's made the Penguin look like Mohatma Ghandi._

_Nuns scare me, baby. Latin scares me. And this dude doesn't scare easily, you know? So I think I'm gonna have to make you pay for that one. _

_Still that was pretty funny. "Having a great time. Wish you were here." In fucking Latin. You're either a funny nun, or some real sadistic chick. I checked a Latin textbook out of the library, just in case you wind up being either one of those._

_You know I wouldn't read Latin for anyone but you, baby._

_I'm sending you those photos you asked for. __I got two different colored eyes. __I took a few, cause I didn't know what looked good. The lady at the counter told me to send them all. So I think you should send me all those photos of you, too. It's only fair, right?_

_Elwood_

_P.S. -Here's some Latin special just for you._ Amo vi-um. Volo comparare nonnula tegumembra.

* * *

- 

_June 9, 1978_

_Jo,_

_Are you going back to the capital anytime soon? I'm wondering where you've been staying when you go. Don't stay with those guys from the embassy anymore. They're far away from home, and they'll probably get the wrong idea. You're a real nice girl._

_Listen, if they've got the negatives of those photos, you should get them back as soon as you can._

_Elwood_

* * *

- 

_June 2, 1978_

_Elwood,_

_You didn't have to write those letters to apologize. I loved the note with the chocolate. I'd like to see you, sometime around 1980. Anyway, it made me feel wanted. It made me feel good. It made me laugh. _

_But your other notes didn't. Not so much at least. Did you really think I was not writing you? That I was mad at you? Why would I be mad with someone who wants to write to me? Thinking that you are there thinking of me makes everything seem ok. I know that sounds cliche. But it's the truth. I am sure we are thinking of each other at the same time. It must be since I find myself waiting for your letters, and thinking of you quite often as of late._

_But there are some things you should know. Although my hair is blond with the sun, it really is just brown._

_Sometimes looking at a picture and imagining what you want to see is a lot more exciting than what is really there. I hope you are not disappointed._

_Sincerely,_

_Josephine_

_P.S. - You said that the only people you have to write to are me and Jake. Why do you have to write to Jake? I thought the two of you were both in Chicago? Is he on the road without you? Did the band break up? Did you leave the band? What's happened?_

_Our band never went on the road. We only played local places in NYC. Colleges mostly._

* * *

- 

_June 13, 1978_

_Dear Josephine,_

_How can you say things like this to me? Of course I had to apologize to you. I was pretty sure you were going to tell me to take a hike. Sometimes I don't think. Did I mention that my nickname is "motorhead"? Jake calls me that. _

_Someone like you probably is always thinking. And I didn't want you to think I was just messing around with you. I like writing letters to you. I need to write you letters. But not as much as getting them._

_About Jake. He left town, and won't be back for a while. He thinks a few years. I guess I never mentioned that to you. And now the band isn't together anymore. When Jake left, the band fell apart. I guess it's sort of like you and your band. Jake held it together, kind of like Franklin._

_You once said that we have a lot in common. I think we do, too. That's why we like writing to each other. That, and the fact that we've got no one else. But it's more than that, babe. At least I think so._

_I couldn't sleep last night. It's been really hot lately. Heat wave in Chicago. Probably not as hot as where you are._

_You said we should talk on fourth of July. Send me a number and a time, and I will call you. I'll even play a song for you over the phone, if you want me to. I can't wait.  
_

_Your lonely soul man,_

_Elwood_

* * *

_-_

_June 10, 1978_

_Elwood,_

_I'm not a nun. I am not sadistic. But I think God just might be. _

_After seeing your photos, then reading your pillow talk in Latin? __I think God must have sent me here to keep me safe, away from you. I can see myself getting into a lot of trouble if I was there._

_You're very handsome, Elwood. Very. I put your photos by my cot. I am glad I live alone. _

_I just made room for you in my appointment book for December 1980. Unless you can get here sooner._

_Study your Latin._ Credo fatum nos coegisse

_Jo_

_P.S.- I am not sure whether or not they had condoms back in ancient Rome._

* * *

- 

_June 17, 1978_

_Dear Jo,_

_I'm sending this to you, so you can have your own recorder with you in the village, and I can send you tapes of me playing some music. And you can record your music, too. If you want. I can help you, if you send them back to me._

_I'm including a few tapes. One is an album we recorded not too long ago called Briefcase Full of Blues. (By the way, I carry around my harmonicas in a briefcase, handcuffed to me for safe keeping.) We covered Sam and Dave's Soul Man. I think you'll like that one a lot. Whenever I hear it, I can't help but think of you. You know, I'll pull you in and be your only boyfriend. That is, if you want me to. So what do you say?_

_The other tapes are just me playing around on the harp, with some songs just for you. I didn't write them. Well, there are a few improv pieces. But you'll recognize them, if you know the classics. Little Milton. Howling Wolf. Taj Mahal. Elwood Blues._

_You said you don't play much anymore. I hope you change your mind. Are you still giving those lessons?_

_They take C batteries. If you can't get them, I'll send some of those, too._

_Your soul man,_

_(Now you know what I mean?)_

_Elwood_

_P.S. - Yes. I think fate did want us to be together. Even if god doesn't. Talk to the nuns._

_P.P.S. - Did you get those negatives back. I think it's real important.  
_

* * *

- 

There were two letters waiting for Elwood that night when he arrived home. Two light envelopes, with red, white and blue borders and postage cancellations in a language he was beginning to recognize.

He hated that mail, mostly because he waited for it so eagerly. He didn't know exactly when they both stopped waiting for the individual replies to the individual letters. That would mean too many days passing without a letter. They just wrote when they did, and dates be damned.

The mail was always so unpredictable, but it didn't really matter when the letters came. So long as they kept coming. So long as there was something waiting for you. Because there was someone waiting for you.

Still, reading them in chronological order only made sense.

* * *

- 

_June 13, 1978_

_Dear Elwood,_

_Thank you for explaining Franklin to me. You never even met him, yet it's like you knew him. Maybe even better than I did._

_I never told anyone this before, and I'll never tell anyone this again. Franklin was the one who pulled me out of that fifth floor apartment, so to speak. I'd run away from home, and he took me in. He saved my life, you know? Everything around me was going up in smoke, and he pulled me out just in time. But in the process, he got burned._

_Running away doesn't give you a lot of options. You screw others, or you get screwed. If you're lucky, you can make it out alive. I knew the risk. But that risk was better than what was waiting for me at home._

_Franklin found me riding on the 7 train, half dead. Only he knew what they did to me, and what my own mother was putting me through. It was really the same thing, just different locations. He took me home, and took me in. His folks got me back on track, back in school and off to college. But I think Franklin thought I would be his inspiration or something. I was the one thing in his life that was actually tragic. I owed him everything, but he got pissed off when I decided not to live my life as that imagined tragedy anymore._

_If I had to tell someone, and if someone had to figure it out, I am glad it was you. Sometimes I think you're the one who'll ever be able to share my soul._

_I think he sent you to me. There's no other explanation._

_Your soul mate,_

_Jo_

* * *

_-_

_June 21, 1978_

_How long has Jake been in jail? Maybe I read that wrong, but it sounded like that's what you were saying. Or not saying._

_Tell me honestly, Elwood. Are you in jail, too? I should have figured. Who lives without a phone? Who writes these kinds of letters to a woman he never even met? _

_I bet you do have my photographs by your bed.  
_

_I just want an honest answer. For once, I only want the fucking truth._

_Jo_

_P.S. - I will be going away for the July 4th holiday with the staff from the embassy. I don't know what the travel arrangements will be yet, and I won't know in time to get a letter out to you. So I can't give you a phone number._

Suspicor fatum nos voluisse diversos.

* * *

- 

July 1, 1978

Elwood sat down in front of his brother and picked up the phone. He didn't even look up at him. He couldn't. Jakes expression dropped when he realized his brother wasn't his typical self.

"What's wrong, pal?"

"Why'd you have to land yourself in jail, Jake?"

"Come on. You know why! And where'd this shit come from?"

"Why'd you have to be so goddamn stupid?" Elwood spoke the words through gritted teeth.

"Hey, Elwood! Do I have to pay extra for this abuse?" Jake said, leaning in towards the glass. His voice began to rise slowly, as he continued. "Or does it come free of charge with this plate of shit you're handing me, all of a sudden?"

"You're ruining everything."

"What? I'm ruining everything? What the fuck did I ruin!" Jake was screaming at his brother now. "I'm in the fucking joint, Elwood! Or haven't you noticed, dick head?" Jake reached across to the glass and banged it three times with his fist to remind his brother of the difference between being in and being out.

"I can't do anything! I'm in jail! So tell me, shit head! What did I ruin!?"

Elwood looked up at his brother, and glared at him for just a moment through dark sunglasses. Without saying a word, he silently hung up the phone, got up, and turned towards the door.


	7. July 3, 1978

Jake stared at Elwood through the glass, expecting an explanation. Or an apology.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

""Don't bullshit me. Something's wrong. And that shit last week? Something's up."

"Nope."

"Bullshit."

Elwood sighed. "There's this chick ..."

"Jesus Christ! Don't tell me it's that same one. Elwood...?!"

"She thinks I'm a scumbag, I think."

"Then she's right. So what? Go to the bar next door and find some other pussy. Tell them what they want to hear. It works. Listen, they don't want to hear the truth. They want to hear what they already know, but they want it to come out of your mouth. So, if she wants you to get a job, tell her you did. If she wants you to marry her, let her make the fucking plans."

"I don't want..." Elwood paused, hesitant.

"You fucking motorhead. It's about getting laid, man... right? So get yourself some, then move on. There ain't no chick in the world who doesn't have a sister just as hot as she is."

"What if it ain't about just getting laid. "

"You're kidding me."

"What if?"

Jake looked at his brother, and without missing a beat, replied.

"I never even considered that."

* * *

- 

_July 3, 1978_

_My Josephine,_

_You were right. Jake's in jail. He is facing 5 years for armed robbery. He had to get some cash quick for the band. Gun wasn't even loaded._

_But you were wrong. I am not in jail. I'd hop a plane and be there in a second to show you. I just can't get a passport. Come home, and I'll prove it to you. You'll see me for real._

_I won't lie to you. I've got a record, but you figured that out. But I haven't been away in years. It's nothing but traffic violations. Speeding. Unpaid parking tickets. Borrowing a car when I was kid. That's all._

_Don't judge me as if I was Jake._

_At first, I couldn't figure you out. Some chick laughing on an album. Some crazy rumors of the woman sold into white slavery. How could I resist you or that story? Then I fell for you. Maybe Jake is right after all, and I should just find someone to get over in the back of the Bluesmobile, then move on. But that ain't my style._

_If it was, I wouldn't go to fucking Mmbito to do it. Do you realize how stupid that sounds?_

_I'm on the level, babe, although I haven't told you everything. You held out on me, too, haven't you? You don't tell people everything all at once, even when you meet them one on one._

_Then I was afraid you might not want to write to a scumbag like me. You're the only thing good in my life. For me, it was all about music and cars. And with cars, I can fix anything. But I can't fix this on my own. And I can't figure out how to get you here with me._

_You asked me who lives like this. Without a phone. Writing someone they never even met before. A blues musician does._

_I say who lives without a car?_

_Baby, can't you see it? That's you. It's all you, and me, and us._

_Don't block me out. Don't send me away. Neither of us have that luxury. Anyway, you've got my heart and soul._

_And my tape recorder._

_Elwood_

* * *

- 

_July 8, 1978_

_Elwood,_

_I am sorry for the things I said, and what I wrote. I guess that I am frustrated. You are so far away. And I've never even heard your voice._

_So forget it. Find someone there, to love now. Don't get stuck behind that man in the polyester suit, Elwood. Someone will come along, and I don't want you to pass her up because you feel some sort of obligation towards me._

_I mean, these are just letters._

_Jo_

* * *

- 

July 15, 1978

"Where's that pretty little girl of yours, boy? Over there?" Elwood walked up the stairs into the main lobby of the Plymouth Hotel. "You still writing her?"

His heart sank.

"The African Republic of Mmbito." He said it slowly, as if he was repeating it for the hundredth time.

"Yeah. That's it. You see what's on the news, in the papers?"

Elwood was confused as he approached the man who was handing out a copy of the Tribune to him. He took the paper with his right hand, and pulled out a can of Cheez Whiz from his back pocket with the other, placing it gently on the table.

"Seems there's a whole lot of trouble going on over there."

* * *

- 

"And there's this one girl named Cindy. She lives over by Larry. I want you to go over to her place and tell her I'm thinking about her a lot. You remember her, right? Can you do that?"

"Yeaaah-up." Elwood replied, blankly.

"And Laura. Her phone number's on your wall. Near the fan. Call and tell her the same thing. Ok?"

"Yeaaaah-up."

"And she's got a sister. You can get some with her, if you want. But leave Laura for me. She's the bigger one." He grabbed his chest, to explain it further. Then he reconsidered it.

"Ah, what the hell. Do her too, if you want. But tell her I love her."

"Yeaaaah-up."

"Are you listening to what I said?"

"Yeaaaah-up."

"Ok... well then pal... who are you supposed to contact for me..."

"Yeaaaah-up."

Jake tapped on the glass. "You ain't listening to a word I said."

"Who cares?"

"What?"

"Who cares? There's uprisings in the streets of the African Republic of Mmbito, Jake! Rebels took over 13 government buildings. Three villages have been burned to the ground. There's orphans and nuns and women and kids, all worried whether they're gonna see the next day. And you're here, talking about getting laid."

"Yeah. Sure. What the fuck is wrong with you..?"

"Nothing."

"The African Republic of whosa? What are you talking about, Elwood? I'm talking about getting laid, and you're here talking about some sorry ass kids out in the desert?"

"It's not a desert. It's actually a fairly tropical climate. A former colony of Portugal that gained its independence in 1967 through popular uprisings throughout the countryside."

"What is wrong with you?"

"Don't you ever read? Pick up the paper once in a while?"

Jake lit up a cigarette. "You know, you're weird sometimes."

Elwood shrugged off the comment.

"If you're so fucking worried about it, why don't you go volunteer at the USO or something. Collect cans of food. Just stop whining about it to me."

"You know, there are over 200 Americans living in Mmbito. Diplomats and their staff. Scientists. Peace Corps Volunteers. Businessmen."

"Yeah. So?"

Elwood pushed himself away and got up.

"I gotta go make a phone call."

* * *

- 

"Listen. Go. Ba-wen-de! Jo-se-phine! America! Ba-wen-de! Tomorrow! Tele-phono." Elwood screamed into the phone. He was using the language called Americans-screaming-at-foreigners-in-broken-English-thinking-that-that-makes-them-more-understandable. It was an easy language to learn, and most Americans were fluent in it.

"Ok? Two o'clock. America. Two o'clock. Ok pal?"

"_Too-oh. Oh..."_ the voice on the other end struggled.

"Yeah. Two o'clock."

"_Tooo-ooh. Ooh-oh clock-ee."_

"Dos." Elwood said, remembering some basic Spanish. He didn't care if it was the wrong language. He was about ready to break into Latin, if he thought it would work. "Manana."

"_Ok. Ok. As dois horas da manha. Por telefono. Ok. Ok. Ate manha."_

* * *

- 

"_Listen, Elwood... we have so much to talk about. Too much. And there's one last letter."_

"Who cares? I just need you out of there. Today."

"_I'm ok. If it really gets that bad, they will evacuate us." _

"It's in the papers, babe. They said they're transferring Americans."

"_Elwood, what you are hearing is all going on in the south. I'm far away from all that..."_

"I don't care..."

"_You didn't have to call."_

"Of course I did. And you know it."

"_Look, Elwood. If there's a riot in Memphis, should I worry about you in Chicago?"_

"Where are you staying?"

"_I'm staying at St. Ovidius Orphanage. Sister Ana likes me. And there's a guard outside, just in case."_

"A guard? Military? One guy?"

"_Elwood, I'll be ok. I'll go when they tell me to. I've got my stuff packed in case. But it won't come to that."_

The operator interrupted. "Please deposit another three dollars."

"_What was that?"_

"Hold on." The sound of coins dropping echoed across the ocean.

"_You're at a pay phone?"_

"What do you think? Come on, babe. Just leave."

"_I can't just leave."_

"Sure you can."

"_No. I don't even have the money to just leave."_

"Shit. Jo. Don't worry about money. I'll buy the ticket for you. Just go to the airport and get out. I'll meet you at O'Hare. Like I said I would. You can drive shotgun."

"_And where would I go?"_

"With me..." He was surprised that the question even came up. "We'll get something. Together."

"_Elwood, the Corps'll pay for me to leave if it comes to that."_

"Come back to the US. What do you need to be there for? I mean, if not for me, come home just because it's, like, the best country in the world. Way I see it anyway. Jeans... the blues...Chrysler 440 cubic inch engines..."

For the first time in weeks, she laughed. It was a weak one, but it was a laugh nonetheless.

"It's good to hear you laugh."

"_It's good to hear your voice."_

"Is it what you expected."

"_I don't know."_

"Babe. I've got the money. You just come home. First class if you want. I don't care."

"_Elwood, hold on to your money for now."_

"Please deposit another three dollars."

* * *

- 

What's wrong."

"Don't feel right, me being here... in the joint." Elwood nervously looked around, especially at the guards in the room.

"What?"

Elwood shrugged, and then added a "you know" look. Jake nodded. It was his brother, back from some planet.

"You know what you need, brother? You need to borrow someone's car, some friend's car, and just take it out for a ride!" It was code. Jake was asking if Elwood had stolen a car. It was ironic and awkward, confessing right there in front of the guards at Joliet.

"Already did that. Yesterday."

"Was it nice?"

"Took it round Joey's. He loved it." That was also code for a successful trade at the local chop shop.

"He take it for a ride?"

"Yeah. For 8 hours." Again, one more code. The transaction apparently left Elwood 800 dollars richer.

"Eight fucking hours?"

Elwood shrugged. "It was a Jaguar."

"Oh. Man. That's a ... that's a long time."

"Yeah, eight hours..."

There was a silence.

"You doing anything with your paycheck this week?"

"Yeah."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Jake looked at his brother, then came close to the glass.

"Elwood. You're my brother. You tell me what's wrong. You know I'll try to take care of you, even from inside. Tell me."

Despite all the bickering and fighting, Jake was there. Elwood knew he would be.

"Gotta use it on a girl."

"What? Ah... Jesus Christ, Elwood." Jake knew where that was headed. At least he assumed he did.

"She's in trouble. She needs some help..."

Jake shook his head. "I thought I taught you better," he said under his breath. "Look, if she needs an operation, bring her down to the clinic... you don't need to lend her your whole paycheck..."

Elwood looked up, and decided this was probably as close to the truth as this conversation was going to get.

"I feel like I have to take care of it. Before it's too late, you know?"

Jake paused, looking at his brother. It was obvious that he was nervous.

"That same chick." It wasn't a question. Jake was finally getting the picture.

Elwood simply nodded.

"Fucking motorhead. Ok. Ok. But use the rest of the cash to buy a big fucking box of condoms, ok?"

Elwood nodded.

" What were you thinking...?"

Elwood shrugged.


	8. July 21, 1978

July 21, 1978

Elwood waited at the arrivals gate of O'Hare Airport. He checked his watch again. It wasn't even 4 o'clock. He stood, arms in front of him, hand holding wrist, and feet spread slightly apart. He tried not to let his excitement show on his face. He tried to concentrate on his breathing. That was the best approach.

The scent of a little Old Spice still lingered on his cheeks. He had visited the barber this morning, and had a nice cut, and a close shave. He felt silly though, talking to the barber. Despite trying, he couldn't control his excitement as he talked all about his girl finally coming home.

He even had his suit washed yesterday. He spent the afternoon hiding out in the basement of St. Helen's with Curtis. The two of them listened to some old W. C. Handy records, sitting in nothing but their underwear, glasses and hats. Elwood gave one of the boys $20 to bring the suits and shirts to the cleaners.

"Tell them we need them right away."

It was a splurge. But that was ok. DEspite the summer heat, he was going to meet her at his best. Plus, Elwood had a little bit of the $800 left. Still, he wasn't sure how the money would hold out. They'd have to get a new place, since she couldn't stay at the Plymouth. She'd probably find a job really quickly, and then the money situation would be ok. She could probably get something at St. Helen's if they needed the help. She had good credentials. And with her references in the Catholic Church, too, she'd have no problem.

Worst case scenario, he always had friends who could help out... by letting him borrow their cars for a ride or two. Plus, he'd see if he could pick up an extra car repair job, here and there. He already started making inquiries. They'd get by. He always did. And now there was even more of a reason.

But tonight they'd have to get a motel. Probably one right by the airport. Yes. Most certainly. He didn't want to wait even five extra minutes to drive a few miles further outside of the airport area, and look for a room where the motels were really cheap. Judging by how his trousers were starting to feel, there was no way he'd make it that long. No. Tonight he'd spend the extra money for one of the higher priced airport hotels, just so he could be with her as soon as possible.

He thought about her grabbing at him in the Bluesmobile as he tried desperately to steer the wheel and not kill them both. He'd speed up, rollers be damned, to make better time.

He imagined fumbling for the lock, trying to put the key in the hole while still kissing her. He'd pray his aim was better in a few minutes. She'd be in his arms, and her feet wouldn't even touch the ground. When he finally pushed the door open, he'd swing her around, pick her up and toss her on the bed, diving in not a moment later.

"Aw, come on Elwood! Give me a break! You've never thrown a woman down on a bed in your whole sorry ass life!"

Jake's voice in the back of his mind ruined the fantasy, if only for a brief second.

"Get outta my dreams, you dickweed," he thought back, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses. "Let me do this, just once."

He took a deep breath, then thought about making passionate love to her, over and over. But he had imagined that before, so many times. But now, with the plane nearly on the ground, he knew that this was actually going to happen.

Boy. He had to work hard for this. She was really hard to convince. It took a lot of desperate logic, pleading, and another $15 phone call to the orphanage to finally get her to say yes.

"I've already bought the ticket, Josie. So, just get to the airport and be on that plane. You can't say no."

She told him that they should just forget it all. But he could tell she didn't mean it, as she fought back tears. She argued that he should just get on with his life, and move on. He refused each word that she spoke. She saw no future for them, at least while she was still in Mmbito. He shot that excuse down, immediately, when he said "Well, get on that plane, and you won't be in Mmbito anymore."

She protested several times, concerned about quitting and running from her obligations. She worried about the children in the village, and at the orphanage. He convinced her that those two excuses weren't good enough for him, telling a little story of orphans in Calumet CIty. But then she worried about the expense.

She finally agreed when he said that she could pay him back. It wasn't really the reason she gave in, he figured. It had to be the worry and concern in his voice. Now it wasn't Jo who was trying desperately to fight back the tears.

Anyway, he'd never ask for any repayment. At least not in cash.

When she finally said yes, he laughed and giggled, and he told her what he was planning for their first meeting. Then he whispered what he had planned on doing with her for the rest of the night. He whispered things over the phone that she said made her blush. She worried that the nuns were listening in. For some strange reason, that made Elwood even more excited, as he thought about how much he would have given to do those things to a girl in the orphanage, right under the Penguin's nose. She finally got him to stop, saying the line had to be kept open in case of emergency. She reminded him of the real reason she was coming back to the states.

Still, standing there, thinking of their phone call, he smiled. He wanted to sneak past the gate, past the guards, and maybe be able to be there right on the tarmac when she arrived.

But that wasn't part of the plan.

He'd planned it all out. Even what he was going to say. Either "Hi baby. What took you so long?", or a simple "Josephine Sweatheart? Is that you?"

Ever since he bought her that ticket a few days ago, he ran through the day's events over and over again in his mind. He imagined their first meeting nearly a hundred times. Waiting at O'Hare, he ran through the scenario at least a hundred more.

He'd see her, approach her from behind, then grab her in his arms. They'd kiss for an hour, until security carted them away.

Or they'd be on opposite sides of the gate. She'd see him, and her face would light up. She'd drop her bag, run towards him, and leap into his arms. That would lead to a long, passionate kiss right in front of the gate. People would angrily push past them, trying to get to their own friends and families and lovers. They wouldn't move. They'd just kiss and stand in the way, until security carted them away.

Maybe she'd even knock him over when she ran into his arms. They'd land on the floor. The thought of the weight of her body, pressed up against his as they kissed wildly on the airport floor, was already making his heart beat faster and the blood flow easily. He'd roll over, and continue to taste every bit of her mouth, and she'd then feel his weight heavy upon her own soft body. He'd press down on her, until security would cart them away, still entwined in each other's arms.

That was his favorite version so far.

Her flight from London was due to arrive in just a few minutes.

Then the digital readout announced the plane was there. _**ARRIVED.**_

He checked his watch again, and synchronized it with the readout. As he stared at the gate, his stomach fluttered just a little. Then a lot. He was glad though. A stomach fluttering was a less embarrassing, less visible sign of his excitement than the one he had five minutes ago.

"It's ok, Elwood. She's just as nervous to see you."

He checked his watch and kept his pose as the minutes went by. More people gathered around him, all staring at the same door.

"Customs," a man standing next to him stated simply. Elwood nodded, but actually he'd forgotten.

"Waiting for someone?" the man added. It was a stupid question, really.

"Yeaah-up," he said, turning his head to look at a short man sweating in a plaid polyester leisure suit. He turned his head again, and faced forward. "You?"

"My wife's coming in from London," he said with a toothy smile. "Your... wife?"

"My lady friend." Elwood said dryly, his head motionless.

"In from London?" he asked, smiling at Elwood, as if he was the father Elwood never had. And never wanted.

"Just a layover." His stomach turned, nervous with the pun.

"She's coming in from The African Republic of Mmbito." The words rolled off his tounge dryly, as if he were some kind of agent going over just the facts.

"Oh... wow. It's pretty bad over there now, isn't it? I'm sure glad she's getting out."

Elwood looked down at the man and nodded.

"Yeaah-up. Me too."

* * *

- 

"Yes. We have everyone's name right here, Mr. Blues. It's all on computer now. There's no mistake."

"Could you check again, Ma'am?"

The young woman in front of the computer screen typed in the name again, as he checked his watch. 7:52. She tried several different variations. _Pearce, Peerce, Peirce._ Several variations of _Josephine._ Then any name beginning with _Jo_. He even convinced her to try typing in variations of the names, assuming typing mistakes. She finally refused to continue when he asked her to type in _Ho_.

"I'm sorry, Elwood," she said sympathetically, dropping all formality. "It seems she never boarded that flight."

She looked up at him, smiled sadly, offered him all of her help and a shoulder to cry on for the evening.


	9. July 22, 1978

July 22, 1978

She yawned and rolled over, facing him. Across the room, Elwood looked up from his paper, as she purred his name. It made him uncomfortable to hear it, but he curled his lips up slightly in a smile, anyway. Even though he wore dark glasses in a dimly lit room, he still tried not to make too much eye contact. He looked down at the pad of paper again.

The name of the hotel on top of the paper would be the perfect touch, he thought.

"Elwood?" she asked, concerned by his disinterest.

"What the hell is her name?" he thought. He wasn't even sure if she ever told him. He knew he never asked. Damn. It must have been on her badge, on her uniform. He smiled again, awkwardly, and waved to her.

She was a pretty good substitute, he figured. About the same height, weight, and age. The hair was a bit different - at least as far as he could tell from the photos she had been sending. It was probably about the right color, but the style was all wrong. But it was more than that, of course.

He wondered if she liked music. Did she play any instrument at all? From her voice, maybe she could sing. He wondered whether or not she could. He wondered if she knew Latin. He wondered what the hell her name was.

"Is everything ok, Elwood?" She sat up and pulled the sheets up to cover her naked body, feigning modesty. She looked at him, sympathetically. He had been silent most of the night, and she was still trying to figure out whether that was just his style, or if there was something else behind it.

"Yeeah-up."

Years ago he learned that a small smile or a bashful wave worked wonders for him when it came to the ladies. Jake was upfront, and yet still as smooth as silk. But Elwood was just too awkward for that. He tried it, but he just never got it right. And Jake was always amazed, though, that even in his clumsy way, Elwood's pitiful attempts to act like a real _Ladies Man_ always made him even more endearing with the ladies.

Elwood was a bit shy and introverted. Or perhaps it was that he was calm and collected. Either way, it seemed to work to his advantage. There were times when it attracted all girls who were just as shy and introverted as he appeared to be. Then, by the time either one got up the nerve to say the first word, one of them had moved on.

But then there were the times when some chick just threw herself at him.

"I'm glad we did this," she said, after watching him scribble a few carefully thought out words.

"Me too." He didn't seem to be all that interested, as he continued thinking about the words to write. As an afterthought, he simply asked "Are you ok?"

She replied with a sweet smile and a nod. "Are _you_ ok?"

Elwood just shrugged, then retracted that with a smile, and a few words about the night being wonderful. He raised his eyebrows, and like a little kid, made a goofy grin and rocked his head side to side, trying to be convincing about just how happy he was. She smiled, but he wasn't sure why. It may have just been his failed efforts of persuasion. He waved, then blew her an equally goofy kiss. She laughed. Satisfied, he looked at his paper again.

"What are you writing?" She knew the answer, but asked anyway, in a sympathetic voice. "You're writing her, aren't you?"

"Nope." She didn't need to know. He pursed his lips, drew his eyebrows together, and shook his head, as if it were a silly question.

"Who then?"

"It's to my brother."

"You write letters to your brother?" she asked incredulously. He nodded. "You don't seem the type."

He looked at her again. A few minutes ago, she vaguely reminded him of someone he once cared for. Now, he was looking at a complete stranger.

"He's in the joint. Letters keep him going. I'm all he's got." He shrugged, then looked down at the pad of paper again.

Finally, he asked her another question.

"You gonna need a ride home, babe?" The nickname was generic, and the words held no real meaning or evidence for real concern, except for how to he'd make his exit quick and painless.

Frustrated, she sighed deeply and pulled the sheets down, bearing her naked torso. She ran her hands down her naked body, but he wasn't even paying attention. She tried another tactic.

"Don't tell me you want to go home already," she whispered, coyly. She rolled over again, this time to lay on her stomach, with her back exposed. Calculated and calm, she smiled and looked back over her shoulder at him. "Don't you want some more?"

At the airport, he was starving for a woman. Not merely hungry for a woman. He had been starving. But now he had lost all taste for it. He could probably go another round or two, but it almost felt redundant. He did what had to be done.

"Why don't you take a shower, babe."

She rolled over quickly and sat up, again pulling the sheets up.

"Elwood? Didn't you like it?" she asked, with a genuinely hurt look. "Don't you like... me?"

Elwood put down the little pad of paper, realizing he was being a little too obvious, and walked over to the bed.

"Well, sure! Sure, sweetheart! You're...you're amazing...!" He sat on the edge of the mattress, reaching out to touch her bare shoulder. He smiled, reassuring her as he caressed her arm, followed by a soft hand brush across her cheek. "But I gotta get to work soon. It's getting really late."

She found his hand and held it in her own, pulling it up and pressing it against her cheek as she closed her eyes and smiled.

"Elwood, no. It's early." She let the sheets slide off her body as she reached over to touch his chin. She pulled him in closely, and brushed his lips with her own.

It was supposed to be a night full of passionate love making. No shyness, and no awkward fumbling. He had no generic pet names planned out, in case he forgot her name. In fact, there was nothing that Josephine told him that he didn't remember. He'd read and reread all the letters she wrote to him, in all anticipation of that one night.

It was supposed to be the first night of a new beginning.

Instead it wound up being a night that opened in heartbreak, then ended in a vengeful fuck with some complete stranger.

He tried to be kind and gentle, but he couldn't. Instead, he was urgent, and at times, even a bit rough. Certainly, it was passionate, even if there was passion for all the wrong reasons. He did throw her down on the bed, as he had imagined he'd do with Josephine, but this time it was different. This time he just needed to be in control. In control of something. Of anything. He was a bit surprised at himself. It was uncharacteristic of him, really. But she seemed to like it anyway.

Still he felt a bit guilty. He wondered if the Penguin knew where he was, and what he had just done. Maybe she was behind the door, waiting quietly for her moment to strike.

No. It was not the night of love he had imagined. Instead, it was a night ended by the ultimate sympathy fuck.

-

* * *

- 

Getting stood up was worthy a sympathy fuck, if he remembered Jake's _Sympathy Fuck Meter_ correctly. Getting stood up at the airport? That was worth a really good fuck. Getting stood up at the airport by a women who'd rather stay in some god forsaken country without plumbing, rather than come meet you? Now, that was a new one for the list.

Getting stood up by the only woman he thought he ever really loved? That made this the Crown Jewels of Sympathy Fucks. And tonight, Elwood was the King.

"You idiot! Never pass up the opportunity for a free roll!" Jake once told Elwood, way back in the summer of 1968. Jake was always Elwood's primary source of advice on women, sex, and getting away with the things he shouldn't be doing in the first place. Elwood was usually a really good student in Jake's class - _Life 101_. But when it came to women, they usually had some different views.

"Even if she's a dog?"

"That's what you got paper bags for," Jake replied, without missing a beat. He made a motion of putting it over someone's head. Elwood smirked at the thought.

"Or bend her over. Back of the head? They all look the same."

Leave it to Jake to make the situation better, somehow. He'd just blown his first real shot at being with a girl. Cute thing, too. Still, somehow, he didn't want to take advantage of the situation.

"Man! She was all over you, Elwood!"

"It didn't seem... right. You know?"

"No!" Jake snapped back, annoyed. "I don't know! Just don't do it again, man. If she's into you, go for it. Who cares why she offers it up. If she offers it, take it."

A young Elwood frowned with mild disapproval, then looked out and scanned the sunset and the smoggy Chicago skyline. Jake lit up a cigarette, secure that they would not be seen here on the roof of St. Helen's Orphanage.

"I'd feel bad. Like the Penguin was waiting outside the door. With that ruler. You know?"

"Fucking Catholic guilt. Get over it, Elwood."

Elwood shrugged, then sighed at the realization that maybe Jake was right.

"Just take it. And if you feel guilty, just remember to politely say thank you."

"Yeah. The Penguin would like that..." The two teenage boys laughed, and Jake slapped Elwood on the shoulder in approval. He took another drag, and joined Elwood in his survey of the skyline.

"And don't forget the power of the sympathy fuck."

"What?"

"Yeah, man!" Jake said, as if he was divulging the secrets of his trade to his young apprentice.

"Yeah! The sympathy fuck. Those are great. If she feels sorry for you, her legs open automatically. I think they've got some kind of remote control in there, or something.."

"Stop shitting me."

"No! Seriously! She thinks you're a nice guy who just got screwed by someone? She's all over that. Your best friend fuck you over? That's at least second base."

Elwoods lip curled up into a subtle smile. He didn't want to break Jake's rhythm.

"You just got stood up? That's a sympathy fuck. But if you got stood up by some chick who's fucking your best friend...? Well, brother, now that is an automatic sympathy fuck. With a blow job thrown in, too. And what's best, she knows you're torn up, And it's gonna take some time to get over it, whatever it is. So she won't expect you to stick around or call."

Elwood laughed out loud, shaking his head. His brother amazed him sometimes.

"It's always about sex with you, ain't it?"

"What else is there?"

"Cars," Elwood suggested, eyebrows raised, looking at his brother over the rim of his sunglasses.

"You and your fucking cars."

"Ok, then. There's always music..."

Jake was silent. The young apprentice was wise beyond his years. Jake nodded, then smiled back at his brother. Elwood took out his harmonica and made a good attempt to play a few rifts of James Cotton's _Honest I Do._ Now the whole neighborhood, even the Penguin, probably knew they were up there. They all might even know what the boys were talking about. But right then, it didn't matter.

Jake joined in. His voice had just finished the change, and he knew how that improved his singing.

"_Don't you know that I love you  
Honest I do  
I'll never please  
No one but you "_

Finally, after another rift, Jake missed his cue. He was done singing, so he spoke again, in a serious tone this time.

"You're gonna need to get over a lot of things if you're gonna make it in this world, El."

Elwood thought about it, even though he didn't want to. He knew what Jake was leading up to. Jake reached over and put his arm around Elwood's shoulder.

"Listen, man. They're gonna send me away, before you..."

"Shut up. Don't say that..."

"Would you just listen to me for a minute. I gotta give you as much advice as I can, before I go."

"I'll go with you." Elwood said, as if the answer was obvious.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Why not?"

"They'd call it kidnapping or something. They'd kick my ass in jail in a second. You want that?"

"No," Elwood said, sadly.

"Listen, I'm gonna hit 18 before you, right? So you're gonna have to figure things out on your own for a while. But you just ride it out, and I'll be out there waiting for you. Don't worry. I'll get everything started. But until then, you're gonna have to take care of yourself for a while."

Elwood looked down at his shoes.

"Don't worry. Curtis is here. You'll be fine. Just gotta stop worrying about other people, you know. Just think of yourself."

"Can't help it, you know."

"Yeah. I know." Jake understood what Elwood was talking about. Although Elwood was worried about being left at the orphanage alone, but he was even more worried that Jake would need someone to look after him, out there in the real world.

Elwood decided it was time to change the subject, before the lump in his throat made it impossible for him to talk.

"Uh, you think...uh next time...?" He was unsure how to phrase it, but Jake understood, completely.

"Yeah. Don't hesitate. If she offers, go to it."

"Sleep with her..."

"No. Don't sleep."

Elwood chuckled again.

"Don't worry about it, man. Just make it work for you," Jake once told him. "Chicks love that stuff, anyway."

"What stuff?"

"All that shy guy shit."

"Right," Elwood replied skeptically. Jake shrugged, lighting up a new cigarette.

"Yeah. Makes you look sensitive."

"No kidding? Then why don't you do it that way."

"I don't have to."

Elwood shoved his older brother with his shoulder, the way that boys often do. It was a way of saying thanks for everything. It was a way to say he loved him. It was a way to say that that deep down, beneath the concerned big brother persona he liked to show, Elwood thought that Jake really was a big prick in a pair of dark sunglasses.

-

* * *

- 

Shaking himself from out of his deep memory, Elwood looked at his new lady friend, feeling her skin underneath his. Those rooftop conversations were a long time ago, but even today, Jake was right. Think of yourself. Do what you need to do to survive. And right now, all he needed was to forget about that whole terrible day at the airport, and what she did to him.

"You're on your own, Elwood," he thought to himself. But this time he couldn't just steal a car and go looking for his brother. So instead, Elwood just smiled at the woman who was sharing his hotel room.

Her eyes were sad, asking him what he was really thinking about. But she didn't need to know that either.

"You want some more?" Elwood asked, pretending to be genuinely interested. She smiled, nodded her head and wiggled up to him.

"What do you think?"she replied, as he pulled her up closer to him, and as she pulled the remaining sheets off herself. He took that as an offer.

So, to forget about Jo, and to honor his brother, he'd comply one more time.

Anything else would be impolite.

-

* * *

_-_

_July 22, 1978_

_Dear Jo,_

_I waited at O'Hare forever. If you didn't want to show up, you should have just told me. Who's not being honest, now? What the fuck happened?_

_I guess that god forsaken shit hole you're in is better than me. Sorry you had to learn what a scum bag I really am. _

_I stole a car for you, just to buy you that fucking ticket. I probably would have done anything for you. And I'd wind up in the joint, probably. But who needs that shit, for some chick who can't even be honest and show up. So thanks for saving me all that shit._

_And I gotta thank you for not turning up. While I was waiting, I met this sweet little thing behind the ticket counter. We're running off together to California. So don't bother writing._

_Have a great life,_

_Elwood_

_-_

* * *

- 

"Are you still writing to your brother?" she asked, amazed, as she emerged from the bathroom with a towel around her body, and another tied in a turban on top of her head.

"Sure," he replied, while slumped into the old chair by the lamp.

"What could you possibly say?"

"Telling him about you..." Elwood shrugged and smiled. It seemed harmless enough.

"Really?"

"Yeah." Elwood sat up straight and pretended to read from his paper script.

"Dear Jake. While I was waiting for that bitch, I met a pretty little thing behind the ticket counter. She was..." He was at a loss for words, but he couldn't delay too long. He said the first thing that came to his mind. "She was like a lighthouse in the storm."

It was a cheesy line, but she didn't seem like the type who was hard to impress with words. He looked up at her, and hoped she wouldn't read too much into it. To his complete and utter dismay, she sat down on the bed, dumbfounded. She smiled back at him.

"That's beautiful! Do you really mean that?"

"Sure..."

"Do you always write like this?"

"I guess I'm a bit of a poet." Elwood said, a shy smile growing across his face.

"I guess so. A musician would have to be. What else?" she asked, anxious to hear more.

"Um, yeah. Ok. She's funny and smart, and really pretty, and I can tell her everything. I've only known her a few hours, but she's the sweetest thing I've ever seen."

"Come on... you didn't write that!" She got up and headed for him, grabbing for the pad with one hand, while holding up her towel in the other. He pulled the pad of paper up and out of her reach, up the air. She grabbed for it, almost climbing on his lap to reach it. That sent him laughing.

"No," he confessed. "No. I didn't say that. But I did say you were real pretty."

She backed off, and sat down on the bed again. Her laugh and smile slowly faded.

"No. Of course you wouldn't say that. No one ever does."

Elwood looked at her, a bit confused. "What do you mean?"

"You know, you didn't have to do all this. You know." Her voice had changed. She knew he wasn't writing to Jake. And Elwood knew that, too.

"I know I wasn't what you expected for tonight. But thanks anyway. Maybe it's better than both of us being alone."

Elwood looked at her, a bit in shock. She was cute enough, but he realized that no one wrote songs or poetry about the girl who worked at the airline ticket counter. And probably no one would, ever again.

"What do you mean? It was great! I had a great time..."

She looked down at the floor. Her cheerful face had all of a sudden turned very sad, as if she knew that no one would ever write songs or poetry about her either.

After a moment, he ripped the used papers off the top of the pad, stuffing them clumsily into his pocket. Then he took up his pen again, and started to scribble some words down.

"Hold on... I got it..." he said, looking back and forth at her in between lines. It wasn't great, but it was something.

Finally, he put his pen down and reached over to his jacket, and pulled a harmonica out of the pocket. He played a few notes, as generic as the names he had called her earlier.

"_I met her tonight, while waiting on you, __Just as sweet as anything, too"_

"Don't."

_"She made it all better, made me feel right, __Without her I'd never have lived through the night"_

"Elwood..."

_"She needs better than me, the both of you do. __But at least I know that her heart is true"_

"Please. Stop it." Her voice cracked, as she started to hold back the tears.

He put the harmonica down, and looked at her across the room. He hoped the song would make her smile. If it was Jake, she'd be in hysterics by now, he imagined. But he was just awkward. And she wasn't laughing.

She tried to fight back a few tears, and rubbed her eyes. He never realized that maybe she felt the same way he did. He never thought that he could actually be the one giving her a sympathy fuck.

Finally, he got up, sat down next to her, and hugged her. He pulled the towel off her head, and kissed her wet hair. He was a bit frightened for the first time. What had he done?

"Babe... what is your name?" he asked, words muffled in her hair. It was better this way, since there was fear and guilt in his eyes.

She froze in his arms, realizing that he honestly didn't know. Instead of crying, or pushing him away, she hugged him back, tightly. Instead of an answer, she sobbed in his arms. Finally, she suggested the unthinkable.

"For the rest of the night, why don't you just call me Josephine."

He was frozen, but he managed to gently push her away, so that he could actually look into her eyes.

"Really..." she added, choking up. "I don't mind."

Elwood slowly took off his glasses, to make sure she could really see his face when he said the next few words. It was finally a moment of perfect clarity.

"No. You should mind," he said. "You should. You're much, much better than that."

-

-END PART I-

-

**Story continues under the title**

**_"FALSE WITNESS"_**


End file.
